


Stars in Our Eyes

by LuthienThalia



Series: The Stars We See [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, F/M, fem!Bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-14 10:22:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 61,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4560969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuthienThalia/pseuds/LuthienThalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where pretty much everything is the same, only Bucky is actually female.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic, ever. So if something is horribly wrong, please let me know. I use Google Translate for all of the text that is in another language, so if I use something out of context or it's mistranslated - let me know.
> 
> This was originally going to be a one-shot. How horribly naive of me to think I would be able to contain this in one chapter.

Jane Burdette “Bucky” Barnes always had a soft spot for one Steven Grant Rogers. They met on one fateful day when she heard a scuffle coming from an alleyway on her way home from school. She went to investigate (She was always sticking her nose where it wasn’t wanted. Good thing she knew how to stick up for herself). It was there that she found Steve trying to fight back against the boys who had him cornered. One was flipping through a journal and ripping pages out while laughing and the other two were kicking a curled up form on the ground. Bucky’s vision went red and the next thing she remembered was extending a hand to the person on the ground.

It took her a bit to get Steve past the fact that a girl won a fight that he couldn’t. Bucky just told Steve that he had softened them up for her and no one expects a girl to be able to fight so really she just won on a technicality. Steve eventually let it go, until it happened again. But this time, Bucky was prepared. She only threw the punches needed to send the guys packing but tried to make it all seem like Steve was really the one throwing the big punches. The bullies slowed down once Bucky became friends with Steve, but there was always the occasional comment of how Steve needed a girl to fight his battles for him. Bucky’s heart swelled when Steve looked at the bullies and just told them to not try making it seem like they hadn’t gotten beaten by a girl and really, they were the ones who should be ashamed because who does that? They were left alone completely after that.  
Bucky and Steve became inseparable after that. They went everywhere together. As they grew into teenagers, Steve started getting jealous of the changes puberty was making on Bucky and not on him. But really, Bucky was jealous of Steve. She watched as his voice deepened and while he stayed small, he maintained a strength that was purely Steve. Bucky’s parents started wanting her to wear pretty dresses and to pay more attention to her “purity” but really Bucky just wanted to wear pants and stick by Steve’s side. Steve’s mom loved Bucky. She would give her dresses that didn’t fit anymore and while they may have been slightly out of season, Bucky loved them more than her new clothes. Bucky learned how to cook from Steve’s mom and she would teach Mrs. Rogers the recipes that Bucky’s mom made her learn.

And then Mrs. Rogers got sick. Bucky had spent countless nights sneaking over to the Rogers’ house when Steve was sick, but this was different. While Bucky could fill in the small holes left by Mrs. Rogers, Bucky couldn’t replace the big spaces. She wanted nothing more than to find the one recipe, the one cure that heal Mrs. Rogers so they could go back to the routine that they had. Steve and Bucky running around Brooklyn, getting into trouble, sneaking kisses when they thought no one was looking (this one started recently. Bucky had surprised Steve with the first one. She was more nervous than she had ever been in her life, but Steve always found ways to surprise her. Once he caught onto what she was doing, he took over and it was the best first kiss she could have asked for.), and planning their lives together.

But Mrs. Rogers never got better and Bucky never found the one thing that she was sure would make everything go back to normal. Bucky begged and pleaded with her parents to let Steve move in with them and when she finally found Steve after the funeral and asked him, she felt like he had slapped her in the face when he said no. That was when Bucky decided that she knew what she needed to do. She had been doing part time work as a secretary for some business in Brooklyn, but that wasn’t going to pay what she needed. Bucky decided that she was going to find a better job, but to do that she needed to be a he. So that’s what Bucky did. She borrowed some of her father’s clothes (She always had more muscle than her sisters. Bucky was just naturally stronger than the average female. It might have something to do with her need to stay strong enough to bail Steve out of fights he couldn’t win), she deepened her voice, hid her hair underneath a cap, and she got a job down by the docks. It paid marginally better than her secretary job and that was enough for her.

Bucky surprised Steve with the keys to a small apartment downtown and asked him to move in with her. Steve didn’t ask where she got the money from and Bucky’s parents didn’t ask who she had moved in with (they all figured that the two of them were going to get married anyhow and she was one less mouth to feed). Steve held down jobs whenever his health permitted it and Bucky worked harder when his health didn’t. They managed to stay afloat, barely. They had enough for coal in the winters, enough to put some food on the table; and when there wasn’t enough for Steve’s medicine, Bucky worked all the more harder to get it anyway. Bucky noticed small changes to her body as she worked down by the docks. Her muscles hardened and she grew stronger. She was pleasantly pleased by this development, it meant she had to spend less time working out and could spend more time letting Steve draw her or going dancing with him. Bucky and Steve still went dancing most nights. Bucky had tried to teach Steve to dance, but his asthma got in the way so she went and danced with other people. Steve never got jealous, at least he never told her so, and Bucky always went home with Steve. She meant what she said when she told him that she would stick with him to the end of the line and she was going to make sure Steve knew it too. Steve and her would go to the cinema whenever they scrounge up the extra money. They were up to date on all the Disney films. Bucky loved the stories that could be told with the animation and she frequently suggested that Steve apply to work with Disney and his animators. Steve always scoffed and told her that he wasn’t that good. Bucky always quietly disagreed.

Bucky still remembered the first time they exchanged ‘I love you’s. It was shortly after they had moved into their little apartment and a few weeks before Steve’s birthday. Bucky had just come home from a particularly hard day at the docks, her body still getting used to the drastic increase in physical labor, and Steve was sitting at the kitchen table working on his latest drawing. Bucky went and showered and by the time she came back out, Steve had nearly finished. She put her head on his shoulder and her knees nearly gave out on her when she saw it was of her. She took in the care and detail he had rendered her in. She was dancing with someone she didn’t recognize, but her gaze was on someone sitting down and not her dance partner. She could see the love in her eyes and wondered if Steve knew how much she loved him.

By the time she was finished looking at the picture, Steve’s pencil had stopped moving and he was staring at her with a question in his eyes. This wasn’t the first time he had drawn her; in fact, it was a regular occurrence. Instead of answering Steve’s question, she sat on his lap and took his face in her hands. Bucky took in all the little lines on his face from his near constant scowl and took in the laugh marks around his eyes. Steve was all contradictions. He was tough yet frail, kind yet harsh. He was stronger than anyone she had ever known yet his body was weak. Bucky’s hands followed along with her eyes, trailing over his anatomy. She traced the lines from his forehead down to his jaw. By the time she looked back up to Steve’s eyes, they had closed and his mouth was slightly open. She leaned down and pressed her lips to his. Softly at first, like a whispered prayer, and then Steve’s hands flew to her face and the kiss deepened. It grew into something more than the chaste kisses they had exchanged before. Before long they were fumbling at each other’s clothes and Steve was guiding her into their shared bedroom.

Steve helped Bucky take off her dress and they just let it pool on the floor before she stepped out of it. Steve backed her up until her knees hit the bed and then she was tumbling. Bucky felt a brief moment of self-consciousness, but then she remembered that this is Steve and then they were kissing again. Bucky will never forget the sight of Steve hovering over her for the first time. They were clumsy; neither of them had gone this far with anyone before. But Bucky knew that Steve was it for her. They laid there for an interlude, just staring at each other in wonder and kissing, but this wasn’t sating the heat that was building in Bucky’s abdomen.  
Things moved quickly after that, they were both too worked up to savor this moment the way it should be. Bucky remembers that Steve finished quickly but he still took the time to make sure she felt the same pleasure that he had. There were a few asthma scares after the initial encounter, but they learned how to make things work. It was after the first time they embraced each other that there were whispered I love yous and that led to more kissing.

It was perfect.

So Bucky and Steve made a pact. They were gonna save up as much as they could and then they were gonna get married. Steve was determined to make the most money of the two of them so that Bucky wouldn’t have to work so much, but Bucky just reminded Steve that she loved working and that she wanted to help out. Steve grumbled from time to time but he loved seeing her in her dock clothes, sweaty and generally with some sort of dirt smeared across her face. Bucky caught him drawing her that way one too many times for it to not be one of his favorite sights.

Everything was going perfectly. They had their system down and while living wasn’t necessarily easy, Bucky still had to hide that she was actually a girl from the guys at work and Steve still got so sick every winter that she was afraid she would lose him, but they were together and that made it all worth it.  
Then the war started. Steve and Bucky started fighting about whether or not America should get into the squabble happening in between the European countries. Bucky figured it was all too far away to affect them, let them fight their own bullies. But Steve was adamant. What’s wrong is wrong and America should step in regardless of where the bully was. Then reports of Jews going missing started and the whispers that the Germans were doing something far nastier than trying to make a new empire started popping up. Bucky started to change her mind on whether or not America should get involved. Her and Steve stopped fighting as much. Then Pearl Harbor happened. Bucky and Steve were now frequenting the same rallies and while she didn’t want to see Steve get carted off to a war that he could not possibly win, she understood why he kept trying to enlist. Neither of them could have anticipated that Bucky would be drafted.

Apparently in the last census, someone at the docks had listed Bucky as ‘male’ and given the census taker her address. So when the letter came telling Bucky that she was formerly drafted by the U.S. government, it was a shock to everyone that knew Bucky personally. Bucky’s parents wanted her to go fix the mistake, but that required admitting that she had been posing as a man for the past seven years or so. She would lose her job, one she desperately needed to keep her and Steve alive and in their apartment. Steve was a little less adamant as her parents but he still didn’t like it any more than them. Bucky could tell that Steve was upset that she had been drafted while he was still getting turned away.  
At one point Steve was angry at the most recently denial of his services that he took it out on Bucky. “If they’re so hard up for guys, why’d they ask for you?” Bucky didn’t have an answer for him, but that night things were considerably frostier between them than it had ever been.

* * *

  
As the time for her departure grew closer, Bucky stopped going out dancing as much. She visited her family more often and worked harder at the docks so that Steve would have enough to get by on while she was gone. Steve grew more sullen but started clinging more. He rarely left her side and increasingly asked her to pose for him to sketch.  
When the time finally came for Bucky to leave for basic, Steve refused to let her walk to the train by herself. They hid in an alleyway to exchange one last kiss, one last touch. Steve gave her a small bottle of his favorite cologne so that she could fake her manliness for as long as possible. After that, the train took Bucky to the hardest few weeks of her life. She was expected to shower with the rest of the men; there was no privacy in the army. Bucky had never been more thankful for her small breasts than at that moment. She only had to worry about hiding when she used the toilet. Bucky thought she had been in shape before going to basic, but her definition of ‘in shape’ changed drastically. Her muscles hardened even further than they had previously and she even gained some that she didn’t know where there to begin with.

The only thing that got Bucky through basic was Steve’s cologne and the letters that she was permitted to send and receive. While they had to be careful about mentioning Bucky’s true gender, the letters were a great source of comfort. Plus they reaffirmed that Steve hadn’t gone and gotten himself seriously injured or killed during her absence. Everyone thought that she was attend basic and then come back to Brooklyn for a few weeks before the government shipped her out with the rest of her unit. Things took a turn for the worse before Bucky’s basic was done and she received orders that she was being shipped out as soon as she finished. Bucky sent word to her family and Steve as soon as she received the orders. She heard back from her family, they wished her luck and were understandably distraught at the news but what made Bucky nervous was she never heard from Steve.

* * *

 

Unbeknownst to Bucky, Steve had finally been given a chance. He was completing Project Rebirth as Bucky was completing her basic and while Steve started his tour with the USO, Bucky was arriving in Europe on the front lines. While basic got them physically ready to get out there and kill the Nazi invaders, they sure as hell didn’t prepare them for the psychological and emotional toll the war would have on them. Bucky heard about Captain America on the front lines, but she never got a chance to see the films like some of the other soldiers. If she had, Bucky would have recognized that mug on the screen and gone AWOL to go find a certain someone for putting themselves in unnecessary danger for unnecessary experiments.

But Bucky was more concerned with her unit and making sure that she made it to the next day. She was simultaneously relieved and disgusted with herself when she was put on sniper. She was able to see less action than her brothers-in-arms, but in war in unknown country, it’s impossible to escape the close encounters. Bucky’s unit was especially close-knit and she was comfortable enough with them that sometimes she forgot that they didn’t know she wasn’t really a ‘he’. Whenever she caught herself getting too comfortable with them, someone would inevitably bring up their lovers that they left back home or the fancy European broad that they chased on the last leave.

By the time they were captured by Hydra, Steve was finally in Europe. Bucky’s unit found out about her lack of certain equipment and they earned her respect and trust for life when they all banded together to help prevent their captors from finding out. In return, Bucky did her best to help them stay out of the way of the more trigger-happy guards and she always helped them patch up any wounds when they inevitably got on the bad side of someone. Bucky was so focused on just daily survival that she barely had time to spend thinking about anything else. But at night, when her body ached too much to even attempt to sleep, she always found her thoughts turning to Steve. These were the only times she cried, despite any of the other horrors that she had seen and endured. She had always thought that she would be able to go home at the end of it all, but sitting there in a cell in some unknown factory behind enemy lines, Bucky felt hope give out. She knew that she wasn’t going to make it through this alive. She watched as the captives’ numbers dwindled as their captors conducted experiments on them. It was only a matter of time before she was chosen next.

Her unit tried hard, they did everything they could to try to prevent the Hydra soldiers from taking Bucky for their next experiment and when that time came, they even volunteered all at once to try to prevent her from being taken. It was useless, once the scientists decided on a new subject, there was nothing to be done but go and face your death head on. Bucky tried to tell them that she was grateful for all of them. That she appreciated them all and that she wanted them to stay strong for her. Whether or not she succeeded, she figured she’d never know. But all of those thoughts were wiped from her mind when she was strapped to that table.

She saw the others that were there, a few were already dead and in the process of being disposed of. Bucky felt fear, anything that she thought she feared before that moment was just a warm up for what awaited her in the bottom of that factory. She tried to focus on her memories of Steve and her family, her parents and her sisters. At the first injection, Bucky figured that she was going to go quickly. If all these men before her died, what chance did she have as a woman against their experiments? When she survived the first round of injections, the scientists started jotting every little movement she took and every word or sound she uttered. When she survived the second round, she could hardly breathe for all the men standing around her. When they started the third round and she didn’t immediately die, someone ran out to find someone.

That someone was named Zola, as Bucky found out later on. She hated him the moment she laid eyes on him and when she survived the fourth round of injections, Zola began adding new events to her experimentation schedule. After that fourth round, the scientists finally figured out that Bucky was a woman and not a man. Bucky will never be able to forget the smile that appeared on Zola’s face when he showed up for that discovery.

Bucky’s memory is spotty after that. She remembers them cutting to see how long it took her to heal. She remembers electricity in varying voltages. She remembers blue lights. She remembers faces. She remembers a machine. She remembers faces but these are less clear than the pain in all of the memories that she retains. She also remembers a sense of not being able to remember everything that happened. She could feel blank spaces that felt like they should hold memories, but she couldn’t remember what was supposed to go there.

Bucky did remember giving them her real name. For as long as she could, she gave them the fake name that she was drafted under. ‘Sergeant James Barnes. 32557038’ But once the scientists found out her womanhood, her screams soon became ‘Jane Burdette Barnes.’ Shortly after that, her screams became hoarse noises issued from her throat. Time blurs. Her memory is so full of holes from either passing out or for other reasons that trying to figure out how long she spent strapped to that table while being experimented on is impossible.

The only bright spots were her memories of Steve while she passed out. She hated bringing him into this hell hole, felt it sullied his memory to think of him while surrounded by the filth of the world, but he was her only source of comfort. Thinking of the life she could have had helped her come to terms with the fact that she was not going to make it outside of these walls.

Then during one particularly lucid moment, she saw an angel. She saw god. And he looked suspiciously like her Steve. But it couldn’t possibly be her Steve because her Steve was small and very very far away in the US and nowhere near this piece of hell on earth. Bucky remembers pieces of the initial interaction. ‘I thought you were smaller.’ ‘I thought you were dead.’ Bucky fell against the apparition as she somehow managed to stand. The scientists had all run away as soon as the explosions (when did that start?) began and abandoning their test subjects easily.

By the time she saw Zola and Red Skull, Bucky figured out that she wasn’t hallucinating and that she was truly being rescued. When Steve tried to get her to leave him in the burning building, Bucky nearly jumped back across the walkway. She just got him back, like hell was she ever going to leave his side again. Once they made it outside and far enough away from the ruined factory, Bucky took a moment to assess the damage to this new Steve. When she found no life threatening injuries, they led the survivors away from the factory and to Steve’s rendezvous.

Bucky knew she looked pissed during the celebration of Steve (Captain America!) and his brilliantly successful rescue operation, but she couldn’t help that she thought he was an idiot for coming to her rescue. Later on, once the shouting died down and most of the men were in their respective tents for the night, Bucky snuck over to Steve’s tent. She sat him down so she could catalogue the changes that had occurred to her lover’s body. They spent that first night in each other’s arms, refusing to let the other go so soon after finally getting each other back.

The next day, after Steve’s debrief and the assembly of the Howling Commandos, Steve and Bucky spent the majority of their time together as much as possible. That night, they finally made love. Steve was gentle, so as not to cause any unwanted hurt with his new strength and Bucky’s residual injuries. Neither of them commented on how she healed so much quicker than was normal. Neither of them wanted to think of that possibility. Bucky refused to talk about what had been done, Steve didn’t ask. They spent the rest of their time together just enjoying the fact that they had both survived near death experiences and were now able to be together and fighting the same fight.

They took out many Hydra bases with the rest of the Commandos. No one commented on Bucky sharing Steve’s tent. They all knew her true identity at this point and if Captain America ended up being her childhood sweetheart, no one seemed all that surprised that such an exceptional man was the object of such an exceptional woman’s affection. Bucky took on the role of the group’s sniper and she was an ace shot who managed to save all of their hides on multiple occasions.

Bucky and Steve debated whether or not they should tell Peggy about their relationship and Bucky’s true identity. Mainly Steve felt he owed it to Peggy to tell her the truth. Peggy had helped Steve get to a position where he could come save Bucky instead of him just sitting back at home and getting a letter in the mail explaining her death. Bucky didn’t feel like it was worth the risk. Peggy was an unknown quantity to Bucky and she felt like enough people knew about her lack of manhood already (the entire Howling Commandos, seriously Steve are they not enough risk?).

In the end, it didn’t matter. Before they could come to a decision, they were on the train. Bucky had Steve’s back while the Commandos took care of other threats and in the middle of the battle, Bucky fell.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot written. So I'll be posting what I have after I edit it. Let me know what you think in the comments!

Bucky remembers pain.

Bucky remembers more scientists, Zola, and screaming. Bucky remembers seeing her arm across the room on a separate table. Bucky remembers the procedure to attach the new arm. Bucky remembers passing out from the pain. Bucky remembers being hoarse from screaming. Bucky remembers chains and a small cell. Bucky remembers being denied food and water. Bucky remembers things that she doesn’t want to have crawling in her brain, much less anywhere else. Bucky remembers that they tried to break her.

Bucky doesn’t remember when it finally happens.

 

* * *

 

It remembers the sensation of falling. It remembers snow. It remembers a train. It remembers a scream and a name that just won’t form. These images play on repeat while it’s in the tube awaiting its next assignment.

It remembers hair the color of sunlight. This has caused problems in missions (How it knows this, it isn’t sure of but it just knows). It knows that it will be punished if it refuses to kill the target because the target stirs some memory that it’s not supposed to have. It is just a weapon; it should not have memories.

It remembers its handler and requirements that are not part of missions but seem to be just as important. It remembers skin covered in blood and it remembers skin absent of blood. It remembers skin on skin, violent in different ways. It remembers a darkness filling its chest when the handler makes these outside of mission requests. It does not know why it feels (What is feeling?) dirty after these instances that it never remembers after it enters the holding chamber.

It remembers the feeling of a gun in its hand (This is the most comforting when it is holding a sniper rifle. It does not understand why the difference in methods carries different feelings. What are feelings? Weapons are not supposed to feel.) It remembers how to handle a knife. It remembers just how much pressure it needs to apply to different parts of the human anatomy before they break beneath its fist. It remembers brain matter and blood spatter coating its fist and the handler dismissing it angrily after a successful mission.

It remembers dissonance in the clothes and speech patterns after longs periods in the tube. It does not know why it knows these are different. It remembers a period of long winter. It remembers the first of many new trainees to come. It remembers sunlight and darkness. It remembers training young things (Girls, they were girls. Why does this make it sad? What is sad?). It remembers one thing being the most successful and it remembers being proud (How is it proud of something it did not create?). It remembers red hair, fire, and blood. It does not remember this the next time it comes out of the tube. The images that flash while it is in tube have changed. They are now a combination of blood, red hair, blonde hair, and sunlight. It remembers out of focus faces and names on the tip of its tongue. It does not bring this up to the techs nor the handler. It completes its missions within the parameters. It does its best to minimize needless causalities. It does not know why it does this.

 

* * *

 

It remembers none of this. It has its mission. It watches its handler shoot a woman who unexpectedly comes into the room. It does not flinch. It does not move until ordered. It shoots the man with the eye patch. It goes after the woman with red hair (Why her? Wasn’t she on its side? It does not know her; it does not let this interfere with its mission.) and it takes out the other mission target. It goes after the interloper who is not part of the mission, the one who attacks first and interferes with its mission to kill the one with red hair.

It remembers being surprised that this man can keep up with it. It remembers having to fight harder than it has ever had to. It remembers frustration. Its mask falls off after yet another unsuccessful attempt to subdue the interloper.

“Bucky?”

The interloper looks confused. It hesitates.

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

It knows the man from the bridge. It remembers sunlight and a name that won’t register. It asks its handler why it knew the man from the bridge.

"I knew him."

It does not receive an answer. It is malfunctioning. It prepares to be recalibrated. It is painful (no more than what it’s already been through. What has it been through?). It does not remember the pain.

* * *

 

“Bucky don’t make me do this.”

It does not know who Bucky is. It does not know the man, the mission, in front of it. All it knows is that it must stop this man from ruining its handler’s plans. It must complete the mission given. This man is its mission.

The fight is hard. They are evenly matched, but the mission does not have a metal arm like it does. It shoots when needed, it punches where appropriate. It almost wins. It is pinned beneath fallen structure of the helicarrier.

“Then finish it. Because I’m with you till the end of the line.”

It cannot complete its mission. It has failed. It is malfunctioning and is in need of recalibration. It should return to its handlers. It saves the failed mission. Why does it do that? (It knows him. It knows him. ‘I’m with you till the end of the line.’ It knows him.)

It puts the failed mission on the bank of the river. It makes sure that he will survive until help arrives and it leaves. It is malfunctioning and is in need of recalibration. 

* * *

 

 

Who is Bucky? Who am I?

It (I?) goes to a museum with the face that has been haunting its (my?) dreams. The face that caused it (me?) to fail its (my.) mission. It sees faces. It sees faces that it remembers and it reads. It-I read about the faces that i-I recognize. I read about the Howling Commandos and Captain America and Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes. I read about how only two of them (us?) died but since Captain America (Steve?) was found frozen in the ice but alive, the records have been changed to only one Howling Commando death. I read about how Peggy helped found the agency that would later become S.H.E.I.L.D. and how she was the true love of Captain America (lies. Steve loved me. Did he? Who am I?).

I watch Peggy’s interview as she recalls her experiences with Captain America (Steve) and I wonder. This man who shares Captain America’s face. The man who was my mission. He called me Bucky, and if he’s truly Captain America then the one called Bucky is the one here in the exhibit. If that’s truly me, then why does their narrative not ring true to me? I wander around the exhibit for a bit longer and finally after a few moments, I leave. The face of the one named Bucky looks like mine, but it is not me.

I find an abandoned building near the edge of the city. I remember a few supply caches hidden around this particular section of the city and I raid them for supplies. Any members of my former handler (Master? Hydra?) that I encounter, I kill. I refuse to let anyone who sees me and might report me to the handler to live. I will not return. I will not go back. I am not malfunctioning and I do not need recalibration. I am remembering.

* * *

 

The first night is hard, but it’s the ones that come after that are the hardest. My mind is trying to repair itself from the damage that has been done to it and the process is painful. I am mostly able to ignore the pain. (This is nothing. That is what I tell myself. This is nothing when compared to what has been done to you.) I take care to not look too rough, but I also do not want to look approachable. I use the skills that have been beaten (literally? I do not remember) into me to blend in and I move to the nearest library. Once there, I research as much as I can on Howling Commandos, Captain America (Steve), and Bucky. I find myself sitting there for hours, pouring over the information and sifting through what sites seem to be legitimate and which ones are purely speculative.

I find tons of information but they all seem to be lacking something. All of the sources mention Bucky as James and ‘he’. Although I do not have a gender (What is gender? A weapon has no gender. I am a weapon?), I do recognize that I do not have the necessary parts to fulfill the definition of male. I do not believe I am this Bucky that the man (Steve) seemed to think I am. I slink away from the building and go in search of a new building for the night.

My training dictates that I not spend the night in the same place. I do not want to be easily found and I refuse to be taken back to my handler. I am not broken. I am not malfunctioning. I do not need recalibration. (It’s true if I keep repeating it to myself. Right?) I spend the night in a nearly identical dilapidated building as the one from the night before. It is not comfortable. I do not sleep much. The headaches are worsening and I am too wary of being found by the wrong person.

I pass a shop with a television (These are new? I have never seen one before. But they must be old by the run down look of the shop and the tv mount? I have seen these before. What memory do I trust?) and as I pass I notice a news story. They people on the screen are talking about the ‘incident’ with Captain America, S.H.E.I.L.D., Hydra (Why am I angry at that name?), and the helicarriers that nearly took away human freedom. There are pictures of my face, blurry but still evident to those who know what to look for. There is a mention that Captain America has asked for assistance in locating this person (Me?). I am thankful that I remembered to ditch the armor that my handler had me dressed in after I found my first safe building.

I grab a pair of jeans and an oversized t-shirt from a display and I move on before anyone notices that the items are missing. I change in an alleyway nearby, ditch the other clothes that I was wearing, and continue on to my next cache location. I am slowly moving the weapons and provisions from known locations to ones that I have deemed safer. I am still taking out any agents I find who could either report me to my handlers or attempt to take me back in on their own.

As I clear out the latest safe location, I am hit by memories (Recent? Old? How do I tell?) of locations in Europe and in other areas of the world. I decide that I am going find these locations and wipe out any agents hiding in them. I will not be captured again. I am not broken. I am not malfunctioning. I do not need to be recalibrated. I do not want to go back. I will not let them take me.

* * *

 

I board a cargo ship headed towards France. I am leaving from Washington, D.C. My knowledge of these places has been growing exponentially since I have managed to stay out of the reach of my handler. Once in France, I move swiftly so as not to be discovered by an unsuspecting sailor. My hair has grown since I have not been under regular management and I am starting to categorize myself as female.

My first move is to obtain new clothes. I grab a dress (Why? To better blend in with my surroundings? To fulfill my apparent gender? The world is looking for a man. This is a sound strategy) and I grab a sturdy pair of jeans and a thick shirt. These last items are for when I infiltrate the bases. Dresses are unsuitable for my assassination and recon purposes. I grab some money from a few wallets so that I have enough to buy a train ticket (Fear. Why do I feel fear when thinking of trains?) to the city where the nearest base is located. I rest in a compartment while on the way. I do not sleep. It is not safe yet for me to sleep. But I am not broken. I am not malfunctioning. I do not need recalibration. I will not go back. I will make them pay.

The first base proves empty. But I still destroy what is readily available to be destroyed and during my investigation of the base, I find a room. The room looks different from what my brain is trying to tell me that it remembers. Something is missing from the room. Something that instills fear, the memory of pain, and the compulsion to comply. I burn the building to ashes.

* * *

 

I am halfway across Europe when I see another news broadcast with Captain America (Steve) in it. He is battling robots in a city that is not too far from my current location. I decide to abandon my current mission and reroute for a different base location. One that is further away from where the Captain (Steve) and his Avengers are. I found the Avengers during my research on that first day. I have since stopped by several other locations and have been keeping tabs on any updates as to the locations and missions of the Avengers members. I have been adjusting my plans accordingly so as not to intersect with any of them. I am not ready to confront the Captain (Steve) yet.

This base has agents in it. There are not many, but they are trained well (Did I train them? Or was that lifetimes ago?) and they put up a decent fight. I kill them all but not before obtaining any new information about bases and currently leadership. They are not well informed and I do not gain much new information, but anything is better than nothing. I scour the databases and then set the building to the torch again. I move on quickly. I have been leaving a trail of dead bodies and burned down buildings. It is only a matter of time before one of the people I am running from finds me.

There is talk of tensions in America on the news outlets. There is not information, most countries are still trying to root out Hydra (All Hail? No. Not anymore.) and are too busy to pay much attention to what the other countries are doing. There have been many deaths, not all attributed to me, and the various governments are having a hard time figuring out which bodies are Hydra and which are S.H.E.I.L.D. I will not lie and say that I have not been using this confusion to my advantage. I decide to turn back and return to America. I am not broken. I am not malfunctioning. I do not need recalibration. I will not be taken in again. I will have my revenge.

* * *

 

I entered the country through California and have made my way across the US towards New York. I have started to wear dresses when I am not preparing to storm a Hydra base. I am not sure as to the reasoning behind this, but it feels like a step towards finding who I really am and thus I am willing to put up with this shift in dress. (It is a better disguise. Though I take care to not enhance my features in any way as I am not looking to garner attention)

Once in New York, I find myself drawn to Brooklyn. I have been walking through the streets looking for one that looks familiar and I can feel the memories on the forefront of my mind. But the buildings have changed. There some are where none used to be, many that are taller than memory implies, and some that are missing entirely. The one building I am searching for seems to be one of the ones that is missing. It is as if time as left me behind and I am only just now realizing it. I am discomforted by this thought. I give up my search for the familiar buildings in Brooklyn and instead go in search of one in Manhattan. This one is a seldom used safe house for Hydra. I do not find any new agents. I do not find scientists. I do not find my handler (He is dead. I saw confirmation on various credible news sites as well as the Black Widow’s own statement. She lies about many things, but not that one). I do find what has been missing from the other bases. I found one of the chairs.

I cannot help the compulsion. I sit in the chair and I wait. I wait for the inevitable pain and taste of copper on my tongue.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations at the end of chapter
> 
> Also, come follow my tumblr dedicated to this story: http://luthienthalia.tumblr.com/

Someone has entered the room. It waits. It does not have any current orders. It is malfunctioning. It requires recalibration in order to return to peak performance. It waits.

The man who enters its line of sight is not its handler nor one of the scientists. It waits to see if it is a threat.

The man bends down so that he is eye level with it. It begins to breathe heavy. It is having trouble drawing air into its lungs.

“Я требую калибровки. Я неправильно.”

It watches as the man’s face goes still. It has misspoken. It has made a mistake. It waits for punishment.

“Bucky?” The man’s eyes search it for confirmation. It does not know this word.

“Кто Баки? Я требую калибровки. Я неправильно.” The man does not seem to understand it. It searches for the correct language.

“Wer ist Bucky? Ich bin defekt. Ich benötige Rekalibrierung.” It tries again. This time the man’s eyes flash in recognition.

“Bucky, do you not remember me? It’s me, Steve. You’re not malfunctioning. You do not require recalibration.” The man seems to be disturbed at the thought of it needing recalibration. It does not know why he does not feel it needs recalibration as it is clearly malfunctioning.

“Ich bin defekt. Ich benötige Rekalibrierung.” It tries one more time. “Bin ich nicht defekt?”

“No, no Buck. You’re not defective. You don’t need to be recalibrated. Please, just take my hand and we can go.”

The man extends a hand towards it. It finds itself warring against its programing. Is this man a threat? It is clearly malfunctioning. It looks at the chair and then leans forward.

It surges forward, knocking the man over. It catalogues the room, looking for any hidden threats. This could have been a test and it is not sure whether it passed or failed. When no one rushes around the corner into the room, it looks down at the man beneath it. It uses one hand to support itself and the other to trace the lines on the face of the man staring up at it.

The man stays still. It does not know whether this is because he does not wish to provoke it or whether he is waiting for it to make its next move. It finishes its study of the man’s features. It stands, dragging the man up with it with its left arm. It steps back and lets the man lead it from the room. It remembers stepping out into the sunlight and then it remembers the world going dark.

* * *

 

I wake up in a cell. It is different from the one that immediately springs into my mind. It has white walls, no chains, a cot, and a table with two chairs. I sit up carefully, cataloging the cameras in the ceiling as well as the one-way mirror on the opposite wall. I cannot remember how I came to be in this room. I decide to wait for my captors to make themselves known before taking the next step.

I wait.

I wait.

I hear a disembodied voice and school my features into not betraying my emotions.

“Bucky? Can you give any indication that you understand me?”

The voice sounds familiar. It pulls a thread of memory that disappears when I try to tug on the strand. I follow my gut feeling that this voice belongs to someone who does not mean me harm (At least not immediately) and nod.

“Oh thank- Bucky I’m going to come in there. But I need you to stay where you’re at. Can you do that for me?”

I nod and wait.

And wait.

 

I close my eyes and listen as the door opens and the body that belongs to the voice steps into the room and sits down at the table (Door has closed. It is one that will require considerable force to open should the need arise. I hope that I do not need to take drastic measures to get out of this room. I know that I am capable of getting out of this room if need be. The thought is comforting). I open my eyes as the person settles and clears their throat.

I am not prepared for the sight in front of me. It is the man who reminds me of sunlight. It is the man whose face has haunted my frozen dreams. It is the man who was once my mission (Status: Failed). It is the man that the news reporters and websites and museums call Captain America ( _Steve_ ). I do not know how to react. He gives a small smile as he notices my stare.

“Hey Buck. Do you remember me?”

“да.” My voice croaks from lack of use. I see him flinch as he looks slightly confused. So I try a different language. “Ja ich erinnere mich.”

The man ( _Steve_ ) sighs.

“Do you not remember how to speak English? Have they taken that from you too?”

I watch the man’s reactions carefully. Most of my handlers spoke either Russian or German. It was only recently that they started speaking English. I go to reply, but apparently have taken too long as the man ( _STEVE_ ) speaks again.

“Do you know how long you’ve been gone? Do you know how long you’ve been alive?”

He watches me intently. I take my time formulating my answer. I have not spoken English in a long time (How long has it been?)

“I’m not sure how to answer you.” I grimace as my throat scratches. It feels like I haven’t used my voice for years (Probably accurate. I can’t even tell if that’s a true estimate or not). “It’s been a year since I pulled you from the Potomac though. If that’s what you’re looking for.”

The man (Steve, it’s _Steve_. I know him. I _know_ him) looks surprised but he quickly schools his expression. “So you can speak English and you have a sense of time.” He turns to look at the mirror as if waiting for confirmation from those on the other side. “Thank you Bucky. I’ll be back soon. I have to go discuss this with the others.”

He does not mention who the others are. But he leaves and I lay back down. I can hear murmurs from beyond the mirror, but the walls are too thick to hear the words spoken. I decide that I have been awake for long enough and fall into a light sleep. (I can’t sleep fully. It’s not safe. Even if Steve’s here. Is that really Steve though? Is he not just a figment of my imagination? Is he just another fake?)

The door opens again. This time without a warning. It is the same man. It is Steve. He sits down in the same chair as he did the last time he was in the room.

“Bucky, they want to do some scans to assess what type of damage has been done and see what they can help fix. You won’t be poked or prodded by some doctor or scientist. It’ll all be done digitally. Do you know what digital is?” The last part seems to have been a question that was meant to be voiced in his head.

“I know what digital means." I wave a hand, "Go for it.”

The man, _Steve_ , startles and nods. He walks back out of the room and I watch as the door closes behind him. I move from my place on the cot over to the chair opposite the one that Steve normally takes. I wait. I wait and then once I decide to move back to the cot to rest some more Steve comes back in but with a tray of food this time.

“We weren’t sure if you would be hungry or not. And we weren’t sure if you were used to solid foods, so there’s some bread, an apple, and then some mush that Tony assures me is edible.”

I notice the name Steve let slip during his explanation behind the tray of food. I try to match the name against known associates and decide that he means Tony Stark (Alias: Iron Man. Threat level: moderate). I take the tray, nibble on the bread, and attempt a spoonful of the mush. (They never gave me food. Only liquids. It was easier to put me back in the tube that way, they said. My stomach revolts at the solidity of the bread. I barely manage to override my body’s instinct to eject the foreign object.) I decide that I’ve have enough for one sitting and lean back in my chair to listen to Steve ramble.

“- I don’t know where you’ve been this whole time but I never gave up looking for you. I don’t know how you made it back here to New York, but I’m just glad that Tony had JARVIS looking for you. I almost didn’t recognize you because of the dress, but the print was so much like one that Mom gave you that you made it almost easy. I didn’t think it would be that hard to find someone with one metal arm, but you proved me wrong…”

Eventually Steve stops rambling and takes a look at me. He gets up and leaves, stopping briefly in the doorway.

“You look tired Buck. You should get some rest. I’ll be back again tomorrow.”

I nod and go lay back down on the cot. Steve does not mention the results of the scans that were collected. I decide to not question this lack of information sharing – I too would have concealed any findings of a captive I wanted to keep controlled. I sleep. Steve comes in and out for the next couple of days. This time when he brings food, it’s a green liquid (“Tony’s specialty. He says it’ll even stop palladium poisoning long enough to create a new element, whatever that means.”). Most of our ‘talks’ are just Steve rambling about whatever he can think of. I notice that he tends to stick to topics that are from the present and nothing from the past. The memories (Are they mine? How do I know that they’re real? Am I not simply a weapon? What if he really is just another decoy?) that have been returning keep tugging on my mind whenever Steve is in the room.

I yearn to ask him if the images and words swirling in my head are true. I don’t know if I’m more scared of the possibility that they are false, merely fabrications of my mind to deal with the damage dealt, or if they are true and knowing that they made me forget. More than that, I don’t know if I could take it if my memories of us being in love are fabrications. That would be the knife that killed me where all others have failed. Being with Hydra would be preferable to that pain, emotionless and having no autonomy are much better alternatives than to have imagined a love with the man sitting here before me.

It is during one of the days where Steve seems to have other things on his mind, a rare day when he does not talk much, that I finally find the courage to speak.

“Is it true?” My voice sounds a lot steadier than I feel. It is stronger than when I first came here.

Steve visibly startles, I feel a small surge of pride at having caught him off-guard and then I realize that I did not explain my context. Steve’s brow creases as he tries to decipher my statement.

“Is what true, Bucky?”

I contemplate that myself, I did not fully think through the statement myself before speaking. I also make note of him using that same name (Who is Bucky? Am I Bucky? Who am I?) every time he addresses me. I make a decision on where to lead the conversation.

“Were we best friends growing up? Every source I could find stated that we were friends.”

I leave out the unspoken question of whether I am the Bucky that the world has become associated with (James Buchanan Barnes, Bucky. Is that who I am? Who am I?). Steve’s forehead creases even more as he contemplates how to answer my question.

“We were best friends growing up. But most people don’t know that you weren’t actually named James. Do you remember your name?”

“No.”

My heart falls as I crush the hopeful expression on his face. My answer is truthful and without frills. I do not remember my name. I remember screams and pain. I remember sunlight and laughter ( _Steve_ ). But I do not remember what I was called.

“They’ve told me not to give you any information that you don’t remember or bring up yourself. Something about amnesia and messing with the brain’s healing. But then again, I wasn’t the best with science in school, was I Buck?”

I see the slight wince as he realizes that he just did the very thing that he was told not to do. But I remember a sickly version of the man before me; it does not surprise me to learn that he did poorly in school. I fall silent, trying to categorize this new (confirmed) information. Steve stands and says his goodbyes.

It is a while before I see him again. No one else enters the room but every time I wake, there’s a new bottle of the liquid that they have been feeding me for the past few days. I am disturbed that I did not wake when someone entered my cell to place the bottle on the table.

* * *

 

It wakes to different surroundings. The walls are white; there are a table and two chairs. It takes note of the cameras and the one-way mirror. It does not move from its position on the low cot against the far wall. It continues its surveillance of its surroundings. This could be another test. It has been malfunctioning. It tests for restraints, finding none, and then waits.

It waits for 10 minutes, 30 seconds before the door to the room opens. It watches as the man that reminds it of sunlight (St---?) enters the room and sits down in a chair on the opposite side of the table from it. It watches as he places a bottle filled with a green liquid (Safe. Food. How does it know this?) on the table. It watches as he watches it. After approximately 2 minutes and 45 seconds passes before it deems it is safe for it to move. It does so cautiously, unfurling from its curled up position on the cot (Like a cat. How does it know how a cat moves? What is a cat? Small, domesticated animal commonly kept as a pet. It does not know where this information was learned. It is malfunctioning).

“I brought your shake again, Bucky. Did you sleep well?”

It does not know who the man is addressing. It assumes that he has given it a new name, but weapons do not require names. It searches the question, looking for a loophole or a trap. It is wary of when the next punishment will come.

“да.” It continues staring at the man sitting at the table. It stays focused on the door, waiting for more men to come piling through. “Спать адекватным. заказы?”

The man at the table stiffens. It prepares for a fight. The man leans back into the chair, adopting a deceptively casual posture. It waits.

“Bucky, do you remember where you are?”

It contemplates the answers it could give. It chooses the most immediate.

“Сдерживание клеток.” It mulls over its next question before finally deciding to go ahead with it, knowing that this could lead to an altercation. “Баки новое имя код?”

“Speak English. Russian is not permitted here.” The man’s posture changed abruptly from threatening to commanding. It is unsure of its next move. If this is a test, the handler will be extremely displeased if it fails the test. It decides that it should administer a test of its own.

 

“код”

 

“English.” The man does not back down but he does not seem to understand either.

 

“Code.”

 

At this, the man straightens. But there is fear in his eyes. It realizes that it is not being held by its handler now, that it must have been captured. Such failure will be punished greatly but it must first make it out of the holding cell on its own. It calculates how long it will take the person behind the mirror to make it out of that room and into the cell. It estimates that it has approximately 30 seconds to incapacitate the man in the room before the unknown factor enters.

It moves, quickly. Launching itself across the table, it aims a punch for the man’s head but instead grabs a hold of the man’s shirt and swings him around in front of it. The man can be used as a shield from any projectiles. The man hisses in pain as its left forearm tightens around his throat and its left hand secures its grip in his shirt. It turns them toward the door and waits for the unknown factor. When no one bursts through the door, it hisses its next words into the man’s ear.

“Where reinforcements?” The words are accompanied by the whirring of the arm as it tightens even further, the man’s face has pinched in either concentration or pain. It does not care which. “Who work for?”

“B-bucky! There’s no one else coming. It’s just you and me. I work for S.H.E.I.L.D., or at least I did. We destroyed them when we destroyed Hydra. Don’t you remember that? Neither Hydra nor S.H.E.I.L.D. exist anymore.”

Memories bombard it. It is not certain that the words spoken by the man are completely true, but it does remember that it went crashing down with its mission (Status: Failed.) It now remembers where this man is from.

“You’re my mission.” It feels the man tense at those words. “Mission failed. Why? Who are you?”

“Steve, my name is Steve Rogers. You know me. We grew up together. You’ve known me nearly your whole life.” The man bends backwards to try to lessen the pressure on his throat. “Your name is Jane Burdette Barnes. You hated your name so we always just called you Bucky.”

It lets out a small whine before stepping out from behind the man (Steve) and using its left arm to slam him into the wall behind them. Steve lets out a breath as his back collides with the wall. It shoves its left arm into his throat, slightly cutting off his air supply but not enough pressure that Steve can’t speak when asked a question.

“Liar. No past.” It bares its teeth at him. “No name. Weapon.”

“N-no Bucky. You aren’t a weapon. They-“ Its arm presses further into Steve, making it just slightly harder for him to get his next words out. “They tried to take it away from you. But you fought them Bucky! You fought the programing and you came back. You made it back. Please.”

“Liar!” It presses the arm against Steve’s throat, completely cutting off his air supply. Steve’s hands immediately grapple to find some way to lessen the pressure, to let air back in. It ignores the plea in his eyes. “ _Liar!_ Have no past. только боль.” It growls, frustration building in its core. “Weapon. I-“ Its right fist collides with the wall near Steve’s head. It winces at the pain, even though it barely registers.

“I have no past. You lie. There was nothing to take.” It makes a noise of frustration, a migraine is building behind its eyes making it hard to concentrate.

“Bu-“ It presses its arm harder against Steve’s throat, it didn’t even realize that it had lessened its pressure.

“No, I was good. I did as I was told. _They_ broke me.” A whine escapes from its throat. “They _broke_ me, Steve.” The pressure on Steve’s throat lessened until he was able to finally take a breath. It stared at Steve’s eyes (So familiar. Why are they familiar?). “They broke _me_. And I don’t know how to get it back. I am malfunctioning. I am broken.”

“No Bucky, they just thought they broke you. You broke the programing once, you can do it again. Please, try. If not for yourself, try for me. Fight it Buck. You’re stronger than anything they could have done to you.” Steve got one of his hands underneath the arm against his throat and lightly pushed against it. At first, it resisted and then the arm fell, only to grab a fistful of Steve’s shirt.

“I am broken.” The words came out quietly. I didn’t even realize they had been said until Steve let out a small noise. My head snapped back up to look at his face. “I failed you. I tried to be strong. I swear I did. But they broke me and now I don’t know if I can make it.”

I slide to the floor, Steve guiding me down so that I don’t collapse onto hard concrete (The pain would have been welcome. That at least would have been familiar). He looks like he wants to say something, but I have to show him how broken I am. He has to understand that I’m not her. I’m not his Bucky. He has to understand that there’s no hope of her coming back.

“Steve, I can’t be the girl you knew. I’m not strong enough to be her anymore.” I let myself curl up into his chest. I let my eyes slide to the door, checking to make sure that we are still alone. “They broke me. The things they did… I couldn’t hold out. I’m not as strong as you. I don’t know how long I can stay. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to remember. I still don’t know who I am. But I’m not, I’m _not_ her. I’m not your Jane.”

I feel Steve move underneath me. He brings a hand up to move my hair out of my face and then tilts my chin so that I have to look at him. His eyes contain something that I don’t recognize, haven’t seen. (Yes I have. I’ve seen that look before. But it was so long ago. He can’t possibly mean that.)

“Bucky, _Jane,”_ the second name (My first name) leaves his lips like a prayer. I can’t tell what it’s for, I don’t remember the last time anyone looked at me with anything other than possession and harm in mind. “You already are her. I’ve- I’ve read some of the things that they kept in a file on you. I know a little about what happened and even I, especially me, couldn’t have made it out of there alive, intact. You fought them for so long. I’m so proud of you. Even when they thought they broke you, you kept fighting them. That why they had to wipe you so often, if they didn’t keep your mind blank then you would fight their programming. You’re so much stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. Please, don’t give up now. Not when we’re finally together again.”

My breath hitches. I can feel the tears start to form, unbidden. I feel like a dam has broken inside me. I can’t stop the tears from falling. Distantly I know that I’m showing a weakness, that I should wait to breakdown when there’s no one around and no one can use this against me later on. But I’m just so tired that I find that I can’t get myself to stop. Soon, I’m sobbing into Steve’s chest. His arms circle around me and the comfort I feel ( _safe)_ takes me off guard. I stiffen slightly but relax again as one of Steve’s hands starts rubbing circles on my back.

“Shhh. It’s okay Buck, I’ve got you. I finally got you. You’re safe now. They won’t ever take you away again. I promise. They’ll have to go through me to get to you.” Steve’s arms tighten around me; the feeling is almost claustrophobic. My instincts tell me that I need to fend him off, to fight, to not let him get close enough to hurt me. But this is Steve, I know it’s him this time (Not like last time, never like that.) and I’m not willing to give him up for anything. I drink in his scent (Nearly how I imagined it. Or is it how I remember it?) and let myself sink into him, into the feeling of safety. (Dangerous. Not safe, can never be safe. They’ll find me; they always find me.)

“It’s okay Bucky, _Jane_. You’re safe now. You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re _safe_.” Steve keeps repeating the words like they’re a prayer, an incantation. Like if he repeats them enough, they’ll finally be true. I know that won’t ever be true (Not until every last one of them are dead. Not until I have my revenge). But I let the words sink into my skin, wrap them around myself like a blanket. (Don’t let your guard down-)

“Where were you?” I meant the question for the immediate past few days where he had been absent, but once the words left me, I realized they held a much deeper meaning. Steve’s body holds a tension that wasn’t there previously. I want to take the words back, to explain that I didn’t mean them in that way, but I find that I want to know the answer more than I want to comfort him. I find more comfort in being selfish than assuaging Steve’s guilt and part of me feels guilty for taking even that.

“After you fell, I tried to convince them to let me go back and look for you. They said that the fall was too far, you were gone, there was no way you could have survived. So I went on. I made it my mission to wipe out as many Hydra soldiers and to put a stop to Red Skull. And I succeeded; at least I thought I had. I managed to get the tesseract and I crashed my plane into the Arctic. I thought that I had finished my mission; that I was finally going to get to see you again. But then I was found in the ice a few years ago. They managed to defrost and revive me.” Steve takes a deep breath, his chest expanding moves me slightly. “When I realized that not even being frozen in the Arctic was enough to kill me, I lost hope. I woke up in a strange world that simultaneously reminded me of home, of _you_ , and I couldn’t take it. Then Loki and his alien invasion happened and I found a purpose again. And once I got used to going on missions with this new team, you showed up. If I had known – if I hadn’t of _listened_ to them… I _could_ have found you. _I could have saved you.”_

I hear the self-loathing in Steve’s voice. I feel torn – part of me is satisfied that he is as torn up about my loss as I am (Not that he can know, there are some things he can never know.) and the other part of me is saddened that I caused him so much pain. (He doesn’t deserve that pain. I was supposed to protect him from that pain. I _failed_ him.) I reach my hand (The right one, the _real_ one.) up towards his face. We both flinch from the contact and then Steve’s head rests heavy in my hand. I trace the lines that I can reach with my thumb, so many more than I remember.

“Steve…” His breath comes out uneven. “Steve, I know you tried. Till the end of the line right?” A broken noise issues from him and the arms around me tighten drastically. I feel the first of many small, wet tears roll from his chin, over my fingers, and into my hair. My face turns toward his and the sight of him crying (For me. For him. For what we lost.) is my undoing. I reach my other hand (The fake one. The imposter) up and cup the other side of his face. Steve’s sobs increase, he curls his body into mine. He holds me like a piece of debris that’s helping him float above the water. I note a little bit of snot making a small trail from his nose to his lips. Crying is not beautiful. There is too much sadness between us and it chokes me.

I absently smooth away the phlegm and look to Steve’s closed eyes. I’m moving before I register the thought and I find that his lips are slightly cracked, but warm, familiar. I lick my lips, hoping to spread the moisture and find that Steve’s eyes have opened and his eyes hold a question that I’m not sure that I can put the answer into words. Instead, I dive back in. This time Steve responds, one hand moving from my waist up to cup the back of my neck. This kiss stays chaste, but the passion behind it is undeniable. He wants this as much as I do, it’s comforting.

We stay like that for a while. I lose myself in the places where we touch. For that moment, I am whole. I am not broken. I am not scarred. I am comforted. Then Steve pulls back. He touches his forehead to mine and just breathes, staring into my eyes. I realize that we are both still crying. (Don’t we make a pair? Two fine shmucks crying while kissing. It’s like those movies we used go to see, right Stevie?) I feel a part of myself that I thought was lost, a part that I forgot even existed, and it erupts into life like a phoenix from the ashes.

Steve’s eyes flit from mine to the door and I watch as they harden. Our moment is gone, there is a new presence in the room, and our closeness feels cloying. I gently disentangle myself from Steve’s arms and move to the cot. I see Steve’s discomfort at the loss of my weight, the fear that flashes for a moment and I know that he fears I will lose myself again. Instead of reassuring him, I lay down with my back turned to the intruder and pretend to ignore their conversation.

“Huh. I thought you and Peggy were a thing? I didn’t realize that the Captain preferred the other team. If I’d known I had a chance, I would have gone after you myself.”

I ready myself for a fight, I do not trust this newcomer and his words stick a barb into an emotion I did not realize was there. When Steve finally speaks, his voice is tight and leaves no room for argument.

“Tony.” There is the sound of fabric rustling and Steve moves across the room to the door. There is the sound of someone being shoved out the door and it closes. I close my eyes and listen, waiting to see how alone I am. (Never alone, can never be left alone. Eyes are always watching.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Я требую калибровки. Я неправильно." = I require recalibration. I am wrong.
> 
> “Кто Баки? Я требую калибровки. Я неправильно.” = Who is Bucky? I require recalibration. I am wrong.
> 
> “Wer ist Bucky? Ich bin defekt. Ich benötige Rekalibrierung.” = Who is Bucky? I am defective. I require recalibration.
> 
> “Ich bin defekt. Ich benötige Rekalibrierung.” = I am defective. I need recalibration.
> 
> “Bin ich nicht defekt?” = Am I not broken?
> 
> “да.” = Yes
> 
> “Ja ich erinnere mich.” = Yes I remember.
> 
> “Спать адекватным. заказы?” = Sleep Adequate. Options?
> 
> “Сдерживание клеток.” = Containment Cell
> 
> “Баки новое имя код?” = Bucky is new code name?
> 
> “код” = code
> 
> только боль = Only pain


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to let you all know that your comments give me life. 
> 
> I'm going to try to keep each chapter as close to 4000 words as possible. This one's just shy of that, but this was a great place to stop. Sorry for the long time in between updates, life has been pretty hectic here recently. But now that I'm past this part, I hope to be able to maintain a more steady writing pace and thus a steadier update schedule.
> 
> Translations are at the end of the chapter. Enjoy!!

I do not see Steve until the next day. I vaguely note that the lights dim and brighten on their own, it is by this that I tell the days. I have no way of knowing whether or not I am wrong. I find that I do not care. I feel like I should be disconcerted by this revelation, but it takes an energy that I do not possess. Steve is not in a good mood when he enters the room this time.

“I want to apologize for Tony yesterday. He thinks that every situation calls for sarcasm and hasn’t learned how to care about other people’s feeling correctly. I thought he had gotten better, but apparently new situations make him regress.”

Steve’s eyes hold an emotion I can’t place. He is guarding himself from me and I do not blame him. I want to ask him about what happened, but I find that I am nervous, an emotion I am not accustomed to anymore. I shrug, it seems like an appropriate response to the statement. I don’t know any of the other people in the building so I take Steve’s words for the truth.

“я верю ваше мнение” I notice the slight eye roll at my words and I remember that Steve doesn’t understand Russian. “I trust your judgement. I don’t know anyone else that’s here, so I defer to you.” The satisfaction at the abrupt change in Steve’s facial expression is almost worth it.

“I don’t want you to _defer_ to me. I want you to make your own decisions, Buck.” Steve’s open expression causes me guilt for my words, even if they are the truth. It’s been so long since I was able to make even the smallest decision for myself that I find the prospect daunting.

“Since I’m most likely not going to be meeting any of the others anytime soon, I reserve my opinion on them.” Steve nods at my words, at least he can see the logic behind my reasoning. “Was there a reason for your visit today or are we going to continue on like the last week?” My words are blunt, I chose them specifically so that I could get a reading on what he isn’t telling me. Steve is a terrible liar.

“Thor wants to take you to Asgard so his medical team can try to heal the damage done to your body, specifically your brain and memory. Thor seems to think that they have the technology to be able to reverse some of the negative effects. But it’s your choice.” Steve seems to want to add something else, but refrains from voicing it.

My first thoughts are jumbled. (Should I? Can they really undo all of it? Will Steve go with me? What if it’s just a trap? What if there’s no way to undo any of it? They could just be trying to get me into their own version of the chair… Steve would never do that… Not if they didn’t tell him.) I can’t tell if I want to try or if I want to continue on the way I have been. There’s not enough information, I feel like I’m making a decision based on half-facts and half-truths. I’ve been given more freedom than I ever experienced with Hydra, but I still feel like I’m missing an important piece of information.

“Would I be allowed to leave if I said yes?”

Steve reacts as if I had hit him. “Of course, and you’ll be allowed to leave even if you say no. You’re not a prisoner here, we just want to make sure that you’re not going to…”

“Kill anyone else?” I should be insulted, but really that was my first objective once I’m out of here. (Wherever _here_ is.) There’s too many loose ends out there. Too many people who know how to turn me back into their weapon.

“No, that’s not what I was going to say at all. I was going to say we wanted to make sure that you would pose a danger to yourself. I left for three days and you reverted back so far that I wasn’t sure we could get you back. Bucky, we just want to be sure that you’re you. _I_ just want to make sure you know who you are.”

I mull that over. His eyes shine with the truth of statement (Eyes have lied before. But this is Steve. Steve wouldn’t lie to me, would he?) and I find myself not wanting believe that he’d lie to me. That the few pieces of memory of him that I have are telling me the truth, that my gut is right to tell me to trust him. I look him in the eyes again, searching for anything that could give away a lie, and I find nothing.

“But what if she’s not in here anymore? They did a pretty effective job of scooping her out and placing what they wanted inside.” Judging from the way his eyes close off, someone has already said these words to him. I don’t know how that makes me feel, but I know that I want to prove that person wrong. I’m not sure I can ever be the person Steve wants me to be, but I can at least show that I am not Hydra’s weapon anymore. (Not again. Never again. I’ll die before they can lay their hands on me again.) I’m staring at my hands trying to come up with an answer when Steve stands.

“I’ll leave you to think it over. I wasn’t actually expecting you to answer right away.” I look up and catch the ghost of a smile. “I’ll stand by you, regardless of your decision.” He moves away from the table and my mouth forms the words before I even think them through,

“I’ll do it.” Steve stops and turns around to look at me. I try to convey how serious I am with my eyes. “I’ll do it. I’ll go to Asgard. On one condition…”

Steve’s fully turned around to look at me. I can tell he wants this more than anything, a part of me recoils at doing what is expected of me. I try not to parallel Steve and the handlers. They want different things from me, I can tell that much at least.

“What’s your condition?”

“You.” I watch the confusion in Steve’s face. “I won’t go unless you’re there with me.” It feels like a mistake, confessing that I have a weakness, a fault. But the alternative is so much worse. Steve opens his mouth to respond, no doubt to mention something that would belie a larger weakness on both our parts, when he’s interrupted by a voice I am coming to associate closely with annoyance.

“See, what did I tell ya Stevie boy? I knew he’d come around sooner or later.” Tony strolls through the door to the cell like he owns the place. (He probably does. Knowing the Starks. How do I know them again?) “Now, all we need to do is let Hammerbro know that he’s got a date for when he returns to Asgard.”

The tension in the room is immediate. Steve is glaring daggers at Tony and Tony is acting as if he doesn’t notice it. I quickly decide that there’s something going on that neither has told me about. I find that I don’t care enough to try to find out.

“Wenn wir gehen?” I look at Steve, searching for confirmation that he understood. “Wie lange wird es dauern, um dorthin zu gelangen?” I pause a moment before asking my next question, deciding whether I want to make an attempt at humor. “Wir haben nicht, ihn bei uns zu nehmen, nicht wahr?”

Steve smiles for a moment before returning to the serious face he had when he entered the cell this morning. My joke found it’s mark. I almost smile back at Steve, then I remember to  school my features back to neutral. I don’t want Tony to know anything that I said. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“Wir verlassen heute Abend und wir werden da sein, bevor Sie es wissen. Und nein, er muss nicht mit uns gehen.” I can tell that Steve’s German comes out a little rusty, but he does well. A part of me loosens at the thought of having a language that I speak to him in private, outside of prying ears. Steve stands from the table and walks toward Tony, crossing his arms in front of his chest when he’s an arm length away from him.

“Is there a reason behind your visit, Tony, or did you just want to stop by to poke the tiger a bit more?”

Tony mocks hurt, the laughter in his eyes gives him away. “No, no. I’m not going to try that again. I merely came to let you know that Thor was excited about the new addition to his return home. You know how he gets when there’s a new ‘shield brother’ for him to fawn over.”

Steve rolls his eyes. He looks at me, debating something, then shifts his arms a bit before resettling. “Right. Don’t come back until Thor’s actually ready to go, okay?” And with that, Steve pushes Tony outside of the cell. “JARVIS, please lock Tony out of this room until he comes back with Thor?”

“As you wish, Captain Rogers.”

I survey the ceiling again, looking for any cameras or speakers that I missed. Every nerve ending on my body screaming at the unseen threat. My hands itch for the feel of metal, whether in blade or gun form. I feel defenseless, my eyes dart across the room trying to find what I missed. “где ты прячешься? Покажи себя. что это?” The words fall out without me noticing. I look at Steve, notice his arms have unfolded and his hands are raised as if to placate me, and I’m immediately on my feet. “Wo ist es versteckt? Ich verlange dass sie sich selbst zu zeigen. Was ist das?”

“Bucky, it’s okay. JARVIS is only a computer program. I promise there is no one else here. It’s just you and me. No more surprises. JARVIS will tell us when someone else tries to enter and we’ll decide together whether or not to let them in, alright? Buck, are you still with me?”

Steve’s eyes are slightly wider than normal, his breathing is controlled, and his hands haven’t lowered from their place at his chest. I do a quick survey of the room, physically turning while still keeping an eye on Steve. Everything is the same as it was before. There are no new additions to the room, no new visitors, no new cameras, and no speakers visible. I force myself to relax, counting my breathing, and releasing the built up tension.

“I am ready. But first tell me about this, Jarvis?”

Steve slowly lowered his hands. “Alright. Let’s sit while we’re waiting for Thor.” HE motions before retaking his sit. “JARVIS is a computer program that Tony built to function like a butler. JARVIS maintains Tony’s calendar, keeps track of Tony’s daily functions, and helps run the building. JARVIS also counts as an AI – artificial intelligence. So he learns the longer he runs. JARVIS is a highly valuable asset to Tony and the rest of us. JARVIS helps in so many ways, in fact JARVIS is the only reason why I knew where to find you. We had him searching video feeds for you and he must have glitched or something, since they had him looking for a male instead of female. I wasn’t sure if you would have remembered that part of who you are or if they took that from you too.”

I tilt my head while digesting the information. There is silence for a few minutes and then as I make up my mind, JARVIS interrupts.

“Sir, Ma’am. Thor is waiting for you.”

I stand and walk towards the door; I hold a hand behind me and feel a glimmer of something fuzzy when Steve takes it, and nod.

“We’re ready.”

* * *

 

 

“Brother! Well met!” A burly blond steps into my personal space to clasp a hand on Steve’s shoulder. I hear Steve laugh and the sound of another hand landing on a shoulder. I keep my eyes forward, trying to contain the impulse to take down this intruder. The pressure around my hand increases as Steve senses my discomfort, I forcibly relax once more before turning to look at the blond. “And here we have our new shield brother! Well met! I am called Thor. Are you ready my new friend?”

I nod. He does not seem perturbed by my lack of verbal assent. Steve steps in to speak for me.

“Yes, let’s go. We’re both ready to see if your doctors can help.”

And with a booming roar of assent from Thor, I followed Steve’s footsteps. His shadow. And it feels like our roles are reversed. I count the doors we pass, making note of the distance from my cell to the elevator, and note that this seems like the only way in or out of this section of the building. This is both a wise and yet foolish security decision. Power cuts would render the building inaccessible for the residents yet also cause the intruder many problems unless they were accurately prepared. It is also a fire hazard. I idly make a note to talk to Tony about security risks and suggestions as I enter the elevator.

Thor leads us to the building’s rooftop. The ride is a long one but once we reach our stop, I am overcome with the access to so much free space. Scaling down the building would be inadvisable and extremely difficult, but doable if given sufficient motivation. I am busy taking note of my surroundings and thus I flinch when Thor yells to seemingly no one.

“Heimdall! I and my brothers are ready! Please open the Bifrost!”

I turn to Steve to tell him that I fear for his friend’s mental state (Really, he should consider serious help if _I’m_ suggesting something’s wrong with him) when the skies darken, thunder booms, and I am enveloped in rainbows. Why rainbows?

The first sight I am greeted by is a large man who is covered in golden armor and holding a large bladed weapon. Thor is greeting the man (Heimdall, this name gets cataloged away for later use) in his booming voice. Steve seems just as put out about not being on Earth anymore as I am. (We’re not in Kansas anymore…) I turn to Steve, grab his hand, then walk up to Thor and Heimdall.

“Where are we?”

Thor starts. He glances down at me and then tilts his head.

“We are in Asgard, one of the seven realms. You are from Midgard. And I apologize; I believe I was misled. Heimdall has informed me that you are a shield sister and not a shield brother.” Thor places a fist on his chest and gives a slight bow. “I am sorry if any slight was given. No offense was meant.”

It’s my turn to tilt my head. Steve squeezes my hand and I feel a slight pang of guilt for the statement I decide on.

“A weapon has no gender. No offense was taken.”

Thor’s eyes cloud over. He exchanges a look with Steve and then looks back to me. The air feels tense, but Thor merely nods and then gestures with his hand.

“This way, I will lead you to the medical facilities. It is a long walk, so we will be taking one of our long ships.”

We exit the circular building and the city laid before me is magnificent. We follow Thor’s lead and board a ship. I wonder how this is going to work because one, we’re next to a waterfall, two, surely the entire city isn’t accessible by water. I watch as Thor fiddles with some levers and the vehicle climbs into the air. My grip on Steve’s hand tightens and I feel a squeeze in response.

I watch the glittering buildings pass us by as we glide through the city. I note people riding horses (Really? Horses? When they have all this technology?) and that everyone seems to be wearing robes of some sort. There are posted guards in similar gold-like armor periodically placed at entryways and moving through the crowds. The streets are busier than I thought they would be; they remind me of home. (Where is home? Br-?)

Eventually we’re descending towards one of many buildings and when we come to a stop, Thor is leading us through corridors. I try to keep track of the twists and turns but there are so many new sights and sounds that my attention is pulled in too many directions. By the time I decide to give up on trying to make sense of the directions we’re taking, Thor enters a room and I can hear the greeting before I even enter the room.

I’m not sure what exactly I expected (White walls, blood, cold tables, sharp instruments, pain) but what I see is not it. The room is relatively empty, only a sort of table in the center with lights and such hanging above it and the people who were there before us. The nurses (Or are they doctors?) are in the same loose robes as all of the other people that I saw on our way here. Everything seems to be made of stone.

“Welcome, I’d like to begin right away, so if you’d kindly lay down on the soul forge, we’ll see what we can and can’t do.” The woman speaking (Head nurse/doctor? Must be, she seems like she’s in charge of this room) gestured towards the stone table.

I give Steve’s hand one last squeeze then I go to lay down on the table. I watch the light show above me as the lead doctor (Eir, according to the conversation that was happening while I got comfortable) and listen to the soft chatter going on.

“There is significant tissue damage all over, most of it has healed, but it is all crude and not very… pleasant. She is most likely in constant, considerable pain. The area around the metal arm is significantly inflamed, but due to the scarring it seems like her body has adjusted somewhat to the addition. Her spinal column seems to have adjusted to the additional weight as well. Whoever attached the arm did not care for her comfort, only the functionality of the arm. As for brain damage, there is massive scarring on all the sections that deal primarily with memory. This will be difficult to heal and there is no guarantee that she’ll regain any of the memories that are lost to her. But our methods could increase the chances of her regaining more than she could without our help.”

I watch Steve’s face. He tries to school his features, but I can tell that the more she goes on about the injuries I have sustained over the years, the angrier he becomes. Eir continues talking to Thor, Steve, and her assistants. Eventually Eir asks me if I’m ready for her to attempt to heal some of the damage done. I nod, giving my consent, and then my world goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wenn wir gehen? = When are we going?  
> Wie lange wird es dauern, um dorthin zu gelangen? = How long will it take to get there?  
> Wir haben nicht, ihn bei uns zu nehmen, nicht wahr? = We don't have to take him with us, right?
> 
> Wir verlassen heute Abend und wir werden da sein, bevor Sie es wissen. Und nein, er muss nicht mit uns gehen. = We leave tonight and we'll be there before you know it. And no, he does not go with us.
> 
> где ты прячешься? Покажи себя. что это? = Where are you hiding? Show yourself. What is it?  
> Wo ist es versteckt? Ich verlange dass sie sich selbst zu zeigen. Was ist das? = Where is it hiding? I demand that you show yourself. What is that?


	5. Update

Sorry it's been so long since I've updated! I moved 1000 miles away from my home and things have been hectic. I don't have reliable internet right now, but I'm going to try to update as soon as I can!

Thank you for being so patient! I promise this next chapter will be good!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that this took so long. I moved from FL to CT and then I got kicked out of the place I was staying at and I found a job, but not one that pays enough. So it's been a bit hectic for me. I found a temp place and I'm hoping to move into an apartment soon. Hopefully I can start updating more regularly now that things have settled down. ANywho...
> 
> Since you all have been waiting sooooooooo patiently, I made this chapter extra long and gave you all a gift at the end.

The first thing that catches my attention is color. It’s as if everything I’ve seen up to this point was in muted, grey-washed tones. I see a city, my city, and I know that this is home. There are lights and it seems as if the city never sleeps, but I know that I’m just a short walk from my apartment where my guy is waiting for me. I know that he waits with a smile, a sketchbook, and a good fight.

I run there. I don’t want to waste another minute away from him. As I’m running, I notice the scenery changes. I’m no longer in Brooklyn, but I’m in Europe. There’s a war and I’m on the front lines leading a band of men I have no business even being near. There’s snow falling and we’re being captured by HYDRA. We’re in the factory and my men are trying to keep me safe from the scientists and the guards. But it doesn’t work and I’m being strapped to a table.

I yell my name, my rank, and my number. But it slowly morphs into my real name. I feel the pain as if I’m back there again. Only this time I remember that they injected me with some form of the drug Steve was injected with, only this one doesn’t work as smoothly. They’re missing parts of the equation and to keep me from remembering, they started testing a rudimentary version of their mind-wiping chair on me. Steve saves me and I’m fighting beside my best guy once again. We’re a team, just like we always have been. My team, the Howling Commandoes, help Steve keep my gender a secret from the rest of the army around us. We take down HYDRA bases one by one until we’re on a train.

I’m falling. I’m screaming. Steve is yelling for me and I know that the terror on my face is reflected in his. I’m falling and I find peace. Then I land and there is so much blood. I can see my arm, left behind with a trail of blood as I’m being dragged away to the next round of experimentation.

I see Zola and he does not care for my well-being any more so than the first time I met the scientist. He attaches the arm to my body and I pass out from the pain. When I wake, it’s to a dead arm and cold. I do not break easily, but the combination of starvation and cold beats me where they could not.

There are experiments. Testing to see what I can withstand, what they can make me do, what they can make me endure without complaint. Then one day there is a man who implants a seed that grows. Once I gave birth, they sewed parts of me closed, filed away for their later use. I remember for several years, a cryo tube near mine, and then one day it vanished. That day I started work with the Russians and their Red Room. It is here that I meet Natalia. It is here that I train a dozen little girls into updated versions of my daughter and myself. Natalia tells me of missions with a younger version of myself.

I remember snow. I remember blood. I remember being ordered to take out an old friend (I’m so sorry Howard). I remember misuse at the hands of my handlers. I remember that the only way they could keep me in line, to not kill everyone on sight, was to have a Steve look-a-like as the handler. I remember a long line of contracts and handlers. I remember recalibrations, need more often earlier on and the longer I spent outside of cryo.

I remember being loaned to the Americans after the Cold War. I was part of the peace treaty, brokered under the table and away from prying eyes of the public. I was told that I helped shape history for the better, that Steve, my Steve, would be so proud of me. I remember my new strike team. I remember training them and then them turning that training on me. I remember my new handler sanctioning, if not simply turning a blind eye, their extra “missions” for me. That they made a sport out of torturing me because after all this time, I still remembered Steve.

I remember everything. Every kill, every mission, every face, every facility. I remember emotions, softer ones like joy from being near Steve and love for my family. But I also remember hard emotions, anger, rage, lust. Things they tried to take from me but failed.

I remember and then there is light. There is sound. It’s as if my senses are all coming back to me individually. I can hear a flurry of movement and the sound of someone frantically calling out. I struggle to hear the words, I know without knowing how that they are important.

“Buck – “

“Can you hea – “

“Please, not again – “

“BUCKY!”

I jolt fully into awareness. There is a heavy body that moves with mine as I move from prone to sitting up. I look down and instantly recognize the man now cradled in my arms. It’s Steve and he’s crying. I weave my arms tighter around him and pull him closer to me, now that I can hear him I don’t ever want to let him go.

“I’m here Steve. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere again. How could I leave my best guy, huh?” Steve burrows his face into my neck and the dampness there makes my heart clench. “Stevie, baby, I’m here. I promise. I’m back, for good. Whatever they did, I remember. I remember Stevie, I _remember_.”

We sit there for several minutes, I do not keep track. I sit and lose myself in the feeling of having both memories and Steve for the first time in decades. We sit and while Steve sobs, I breathe. I feel the air as it moves through my lings. I sink into the feeling of Steve’s tears on my neck. I sink into the feeling of his body as it spasms with each sob that tears through him. I find myself wrapping my arms tighter after every gasp Steve takes; it is as if I am trying to meld our bodies together, sealing all possible gaps with just us.

Eventually Steve’s breaths even out and the death grip that he has me in lessens. We sit and just absorb each other’s presence. Slowly we allow space to appear between our bodies as Steve falls asleep in my lap. There is movement in our room. My head shoots up and finds the source: Thor. His back is turned; he is speaking to one of the nurses that were in the room during the procedure. Their voices are low, as if they are trying to give us as much privacy as possible in the limited space while maintaining an eye on us. I find that I do not care about their presence, so long as they do not try to separate Steve from me.

I look at the man that I did not think I would ever see again. I run my fingers through his hair and remember. I see a man that I thought had died with my memories. I see Steve and I am acutely aware of every movement that we make, our breathing having synchronized, and I am also aware of a seething rage building underneath all the love that I feel. Now that I know what I once thought forgotten, I know what was taken. I know have a measure of exactly what was stripped of me, what was stolen, what was molded and manipulated. Now that I know Steve, know myself, I know HYDRA.

And I burn.

* * *

 

My reverie is interrupted by a soft cough. Thor has come to stand near us and he looks directly at me, nodding.

“Welcome back Sister. We feared we had lost you. Eir started the procedure to heal at least the wounds incurred by your brain and you lost consciousness.” Thor gestured at Steve. “He was quite stricken with grief. Eir did everything she could think of to bring you back, but nothing she did worked. Amazingly, once Eir started the process, your body took over and finished her work for her.”

Thor took a breath and appraised me for a moment. “How much do you remember?”

I weigh how much I want to tell, how much I want to give away. Then as I’m regarding Thor, I realize that I owe this man, alien, a great debt. He was the only reason I was able to remember in the first place. I am not sure I can ever repay that debt.

“All of it. I remember everything.” I watch his eyes widen. I anticipate the question before it leaves his mouth, “Yes, I remember all of what HYDRA did to me. There are some things I need to set right. But more importantly,” I pause; glancing down at the blond head that weighs down my lap. “I remember him. I remember all of our times together. That is more precious to me and more than worth remembering the pain.”

When I look up there is a queer look on Thor’s face, but before I can ask what he’s thinking, he raises a hand and leaves the room. I am left alone with Steve for the moment, the nurses all having left during our short conversation.

I run my fingers through Steve’s hair, relishing in the softness and familiarity of it all. Gradually, I focus on waking Steve up, each stroke gets a little firmer, I start softly whispering his name, and I use my other hand to gently shake his shoulder. Steve’s arms tighten around my waist before he shifts to look up at me.

“Good morning, sunshine. I’m sorry I scared you. I’m fine now, I promise.” I continue running my fingers through Steve’s hair. I smile when he lets out a soft noise of assent. His eyes flutter back closed before he speaks.

“Morning, Buck.” His eyes open halfway, “Don’t wake me up if this is a dream, mkay?”

“You mook, if this was a dream, you’d be smaller and I’d be younger and we’d be in our small apartment in Brooklyn.” I lean down to place a chaste kiss on his brow. “As it is, we’re on an alien planet and I’ve got a metal arm. Our reality is dream enough. But I do want you to wake up. We need to discuss where to go from here.”

Steve sat up slowly, working out sore muscles from sitting in one position for too long. He stretches, then moves a hand through my hair before sitting up fully and nodding at me.

“Are you sure you’re okay? They- they said they lost you during whatever it was that they were doing. You were gone, again. There was no heartbeat, no brainwaves. Then all of a sudden you were back.” Steve’s hand gravitated towards me again, this time he cupped my cheek, “Where did you go?”

“I’m not sure what happened, all I can tell you is that whatever they did do – helped. I remember everything now.” I leaned into Steve’s touch. The warmth a glad distraction from the memories swirling around my head. “I remember that your mother’s name was Sara, that she gifted her old dresses to me, that my favorite film was _The Reluctant Dragon_ , that your favorite film was _Fantasia_. I remember that for your birthday we’d always go watch the fireworks from that little hide-away park no one knew about. I remember that our first time was as awkward and wonderful as I always imagined it to be.” I took a breath. I also took the chance to steal a kiss, “I also remember that after you saved me from HYDRA the first time, you showed me everything you wanted to do while you were still scrawny and I showed you that it didn’t matter to me what size you were.” I ran my hand from his temple to his chin before cupping his cheek. I found I couldn’t look him in the eyes for this next admission. “I remember the fall and everything that came after it. I did things I’m not proud of Steve, things that I’ll never be able to put right. Things that I’m not sure I deserve to be forgiven for.” I take my hand away from his cheek. “Steve, there are things that I need to do. There are people that I need to… take care of, people I can still save. There’s stuff that I can do to help make up for what I’ve done, even if I can’t get rid of all the blood I’ve spilled.”

Steve pulls away from me. I instantly lament the lack of his warmth and reach out to touch him, but my hands are stopped by the ice in his voice.

“Buck, if there’s something you have to do and it involves HYRDA, don’t leave me behind.” His hand is beneath my chin, nudging my head until I’m staring him the eyes. “Jane, Bucky. The first time they hurt you, I declared war on every Nazi and HYDRA soldier that existed. When I thought you were dead? I nearly wiped Germany off the face of the Earth and stopped HYDRA’s plot for world domination with only the help of our Commandos. If you think you’re going after the people who hurt you by yourself, you have another thing coming.” He paused just long enough to place a chaste kiss to my forehead. “I would burn the world to ashes if it meant keeping you safe. Don’t ever think otherwise. If you have people to kill or people to save, count me in. I still mean it when I say ‘Til the end of the line.’”

I curl a hand around Steve’s hand and I search his eyes for any hint of a lie. I see none and I realize that I would, I have, done the same for him. When I knew I was fighting for Steve and freedom for all mankind, I killed. When I thought I was working for what I now recognize as the bastardized ideal of what Steve would want, I killed, maimed, tortured, and slaughtered. It’s only right that I would do the same for him now. It’s only right that we would do this together.

It’s only right that I should tell him the truth.

Our solitude is broken when Thor returns. He enters softly, but with both of our heightened senses, the new addition to our space is noticed. Steve looks to him first, but as I turn my gaze towards Thor, I notice that he has brought someone with him.

“Forgive our intrusion, but this is the Lady Sif. She is one of the greatest warriors here on Asgard, and anywhere else in the nine realms, and she requested to meet my newest Midgardian companion.” Thor gestured towards the raven-haired woman at his side. “Lady Sif, please meet Lady Bucky. Bucky is the bosom companion of Steve Rogers and a great warrior in her own right.”

The woman tapped her closed fist to her left collarbone and gave a slight bow. “Well met Lady Bucky. I would like to show you the comforts that Asgard has to offer a Lady Warrior as well as extend the invitation to spare with one another once you feel rested enough. I should like to experience your prowess on the battle field first hand.”

I glance at Steve, who shrugs, before shifting my gaze back to Sif. I find that I’m amused by the way Asgardians talk and that I’m curious about their customs. It’s not every day that you meet a god (Or is it alien?) who speaks highly of his female counterpart.

“Um, it’s a pleasure to meet you as well Lady Sif. Please, just call me Bucky. I don’t feel like I’ve done anything to deserve the Lady bit. However, I’ll gladly take you up on your offer. I’d like to see what you’ve got that has Thor so impressed.”

I notice a blush creep onto Sif’s cheeks and wonder if there’s a history between them that is similar to mine and Steve’s. In any case, the warrior woman surprises me by clasping her hands and hopping.

“Well then, Bucky, let us first visit the underground baths. The water there is unlike any in all the realms. Come, let us go at once!” Before I have time to truly react, Sif has crossed the room, grabbed my hand (She took the metal one, why would she do that?), and dragged me out of the room. We’re halfway down a hallway before I have control of my arm again and Sif starts speaking to me about her life here on Asgard. She told me of her childhood spent with Thor and his brother Loki, there was a sadness in her eyes at the mention of him, and how they got into so much trouble that their father Odin constantly set bodyguards, or nannies as they liked to call them, to make sure the three of them didn’t die. By the time we reach the baths, I’m confident I know more about Thor than he knows of me.

“We take group baths here; I know that sometimes the Midgardians prefer to bathe alone, if that is your wish then we can arrange something for you.”

I shook my head; I had always shared a bath with my sisters or, much later, while watched by handlers. Privacy had been a luxury never afforded to me. Watching Sif for cues, I removed my clothing and placed them in a cubby next to hers.

“First, we enter the hot bath. This helps loosen the pores and relaxes muscles. Then we’ll move into the warm bath. That one is where you use soaps to clean your flesh and hair. Then we’ll move into the cold bath. That one is to help shrink your pores and readies you for the cold air outside the water and that’s where the towels will be. Are you ready?” Sif once again holds out a hand towards me. Hope shining through her eyes, for what I don’t know.

Once again, I take Sif’s hand. I watch her reactions closely. I see no disgust, no revilement. I know she saw my scars, saw the constantly inflamed tissue surrounding the joint of metal and flesh. And yet I cannot gauge how she feels about my visual reminders. We’re fully in the hot water before I decide to ask what’s been weighing on my mind.

“Why…” I’m not sure why I feel like I need to hesitate, but the pause seems warranted so I roll with it. “Why do you think Thor is helping me? I mean, I am not the best person. I’ve done things that I’m not proud of, things that I’m not sure you would be comfortable with if you knew of them. I know I wouldn’t have helped someone like me, someone with as much blood on their hands as me. Why? Why would you be willing to help?”

Sif breathes in heavily and waits a second before letting it back out.

“Thor is a kind soul, but he is not without his faults. He understands feeling unworthy, more so than I think you would believe. I have not told you how he came to Midgard and met your battlemate. I think that story is best for him to tell, but it is not one of happiness until the end.”

“So you’re saying that Thor and I have a lot more in common than I think?”

“I’m saying that he understands the need to redeem yourself and that second chances can change someone’s life. In that regard, yes, the two of you have more in common than you know.”

I mull that over. I doubt that Thor was brainwashed into doing his enemy’s dirty work, but if he understands that I want to make up for that, then I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Besides, Steve trusts him.

“Alright, now that we have that out of the way, what’s your favorite food around here?”

Sif’s face brightens, “Let’s finish our bath, then we will go find Volstagg. He’s one of the Warriors Three and he knows the best foods there are to find here.”

We talk about light topics as we move through the baths. I find out her favorite game to play, favorite weapons (spear and targe) and armor (traditional Asgardian metals and leather), favorite fighting style, and her favorite sweet (Chocolate made in some distant region of Vanaheim). I returned with my favorites: hoop and stick, knives and sniper rifle, reinforced Kevlar vest, Sambo and Capoeira, and Mrs. Rogers’ apple pie. By the time we reach the cold water, I feel like I knew enough about Sif to have an idea of what she’s like while fighting.

“Sif,” I pause a moment to make sure I have her attention, “are you not bothered by my scars?”

I watch Sif’s eyes open and assess the parts of me that are above the water. Her expression is guarded so I can only guess at what she’s thinking, but I’m more impressed at the fact that she’s able to hide her expressions from me at all.

“All warriors carry scars. Some consider them badges of honor for the battles that they have survived. When I see your scars, I am reminded that I am in the presence of a great warrior who has survived more than most. I am reminded that life is not as kind as we like to pretend here on Asgard and that I take much more for granted than I think I do.”

“So you’re not disgusted by them? You don’t see a killer?”

“No, I see a survivor.”

I’m quiet for a few minutes. I can see the sincerity in her eyes and it frightens me. I do not want to consider myself a victim. I do not want to admit that what has happened for the last 70 years was outside my control. To admit that means to admit that I had no control over my actions, over my body, over my mind. And while that may be true (Don’t think it), I find that I can’t admit that to myself yet. I must have been too weak to hold out (Steve wouldn’t have caved, he would have stayed strong. He would have forced them to either kill him or set him free. I couldn’t do that, I couldn’t even manage that). I’m startled by Sif’s hand on my arm, breaking my train of thought.

“Do not give them any more than what they have already taken. You are strong to have survived for so long. Do not berate yourself for doing what you had to survive.”

The words cut straight through me, but I’m not ready to make my peace. Not until I can make someone pay. My thoughts must show on my face because Sif’s face darkens. Then, it’s gone, like a cloud passing in front of the sun, and she’s taking my hand once more (What’s with Asgardians and all the touching?) and she’s dragging me out of the water.

“Here, put on these robes. Our clothes were taken to be washed and you’ll find them in your room later tonight. But first, let’s find Volstagg and feast!”

After throwing on the robes handed to me (How are these so complicated? It’s just long fabric!?!?), I gesture for Sif to lead the way. Once more I find myself being dragged along corridors too confusing to keep track of the turns.

“It must take centuries to learn your way around here. I’m trained to be able to find my way around anywhere and this; this place is just too confusing to me.”

I wave my free hand wildly to indicate the walls around us and a bell-like laughter follows. Sif stops for a moment before catching her breath and continuing down the hall.

“You will learn them soon enough. But yes, Thor would agree with you. He said something very similar as a child.” Sif’s eyes twinkle and I find that I could stay here for a while and not miss home (Home. Brooklyn, Steve. Steve.) As I open my mouth to ask if Thor and Steve will be joining us, a brash laugh assaults my ears. I can hear others talking, all sounding happy and some laughing along with the louder of the voices. It reminds me of the bars that Steve and I would pass on our way to our apartment and of the stories of Vikings in our history class.

I follow Sif through the door and see a rather large man sitting in the middle of a long table, surrounded by countless other people. Women seem to be serving drinks and meals as well as entertaining themselves with those sitting at the table. Everyone seems to be listening to this one man’s story and in the middle of the throng sits Thor and Steve. Thor looks at home in this cacophony while Steve, the big lug, is so out of place that Thor has to keep an arm around his shoulders to keep him from slinking off to some place quieter. I know the moment that Steve sees me because his face brightens and he finally manages to shrug Thor’s arm off.

“Here, the big man in the middle of all this is Volstagg. He is one of Asgard’s best warriors, though he may not look it. Volstagg will always be ready with a battle story and the finest mead and meat in all the nine realms. Come, let’s join them.”

Sif pulls me toward the only empty spots around the table. Thor and Steve must have kept them open, since all available space is taken up by a body. Everyone wants to be near Volstagg. Each looking to him like a flower to the sun.

“Ah! Welcome my fine friend! Here lads, here is a great warrior from Midgard! Let’s give her our finest warrior’s welcome, shall we?”

A large cheer rises from those gathered, the sound nearly deafening, and a large mug lands on the table in front of me. I can feel the room start to close in on me, my breathing becoming faster, sharper. Steve grabs my hand, gives it a squeeze, and I’m grounded by that point of contact. The world comes back into focus and my panic subsides.

“Hey,” another squeeze of my hand. “How are you feeling? You two were gone for a while.”

“I’m fine; we talked about mostly innocent topics. I want to go for a round with her in a sparring match. I think it would be fun.”

“Okay, but if you nee-“

Thor laughs at something that Volstagg said and nudges Steve. Steve drops his sentence and we listen to the story for a while, laughing at blunders committed by various warriors during a battle that only Volstagg seems to remember. By the time everyone either falls asleep at the table or leaves to go back to their quarters, Volstagg’s face is in his half-empty mug and Thor is snoring next to him. Sif offers to show Steve and I to our room after making sure that Volstagg isn’t going to drown in the middle of the night. Once we’re alone in our room, Steve sits on the bed and pats the space next to him.

“Do you want to talk about what happened in there? Or should we reminisce about our shared past?”

“What, you want to talk about our favorites? How my favorite color used to be blue and yours was yellow? How my favorite holiday was always your birthday and yours was Thanksgiving? Or do you want to talk about that time Jimmy from the docks tried to set me up with that one girl from his block and you used your powers of awkwardness to chase the two of them away? Or should we talk about how I was having a panic attack while surrounded by a bunch of loud, drunk aliens?”

“Well, when you put it that way…” Steve’s face clouds over before I see a twinkle appear in his eyes, “You remember my favorite movie?”

“That’s what you take away from that, you big meatball?” I move towards Steve, and instead of sitting next to him, I sit on his lap. “Not that my favorite holiday is your birthday, not that I remember a time when your awkwardness was good for more than being endearing? You really are too much.”

I place my hands on Steve’s face and take a slow breath. I let my fingers explore his face. Finding new wrinkles, new lines. Steve’s eyes flutter closed and his breathing shifts deeper, slower. I can tell that he wants this, missed this, and that I do too. I continue my exploration of his face, working from his forehead down to his chin. I trace the outline of his lower lip, from one corner to the other, and Steve’s lips fall apart. I lean forward, the sight of Steve straining to not push the situation any farther too tempting to resist.

The kiss starts soft and slow. There’s nowhere that either of us has to be and I’m feeling warm from the Asgardian mead. I focus on the feeling of his lips against mine: his soft skin, warmth of his breath, and the taste of the mead on his lips. All mingling together to create a concoction that I cannot resist. I press closer, moving so that my legs frame Steve’s torso. I feel his fingers dig into my sides and I swallow a moan as it escapes his throat. It’s sweeter than anything I’ve heard in my life.

I want to go further. I want to feel his skin on mine. I want. I _want_. And so I decide to take. I worry that I’m moving faster than Steve is ready for, but the thought is quickly overridden by lust. My fingers curl under Steve’s shirt and tug. He seems to understand my meaning and lifts his arms, breaking our kiss just long enough to pull his shirt over his head. I crash into Steve, my tongue exploring his mouth, searching for any differences from our last time 50 years ago. My hands searching for scars, wondering at their stories before moving to the next. His serum, perfect as it is, heals leaves hints of scars instead of the real deal. So I work at the map of Steve’s skin, plotting the landmarks both old and new. My concentration is broken when Steve breaks the kiss.

“How the fuck do you get these things off?”

I laugh, harder than I think I’ve ever laughed. Steve plants kisses along my throat while his hands continue to find the key to disrobing me, occasionally making noises of frustration. I struggle to reign in my laughter and gently push Steve’s hands aside.

“Allow me to show you.”

I disentangle myself from Steve and stand in front of him. I find the ties that ensure the robes stay on and slowly untie them. I glance at Steve and smile. He looks utterly wrecked. His breathing rapid, his lips a dark red, and his eyes are bright. He’s looking at me with an awe that makes me self-conscious. I let the layers fall one by one until I’m standing in front of Steve without barriers. I watch him as he takes in my body. Scars and all. (Is this too much? Have I gone too far? He’s going to hate what he sees, I just know it. He’s wanting the me that he used to know and not whatever I am now. I-)

“Stop it. Stop overthinking this. If it’s too soon, we don’t have to go any farther. I shouldn’t have let this go as far as it has, but I think the drink hit me harder than I’m used to. I want you, same as I always have. If you don’t want this right now, I understand. I can wait. I’m with you til the end, remember?”

Steve’s hands cup my face, thumb stroking my cheek. I lean into the touch. His warmth closing in around me. I didn’t even notice him stand up, much less walk over to me. But now that he’s here, I’m entranced once more by his scent, his skin, him. I tilt my head up and press my lips against his once more, letting him decide whether or not to deepen it this time. He surprises me by grabbing my thighs and lifting me up, guiding my legs to wrap around his waist. My hands start roaming again, one lifting to press him closer. Steve backs up until he hits the bed then lowers us down onto it. Electricity sparks everywhere that Steve’s hands land. I follow his path across my body, delighting in the places where he lingers and lamenting when his hands lift. Steve starts kissing a path down my neck. I can feel his lips twitch when he stops to suck on a tender spot, eliciting a moan. Then his hands and lips meet at my breasts and I see fireworks. Steve lavishes one, then moves to the other and then back again. One hand toying with the nipple while his tongue laves the other. His other hand begins a path back down, following a series of scars toward my navel.

“One day,” the words are uttered in between kisses as he makes a path from my breasts to my neck, “you’ll share the stories behind each one. I want to know. Even if it’s a bad memory. I’ll share mine too. I want to know everything you have to share. We’ll take our time, it doesn’t have to all be in one day. Just, promise me we won’t have secrets?”

“I-“A moan escapes as Steve’s hand finds its mark, “If I promise, will you promise to just get on with it? Cause you’re kinda killin’ my vibe right now, punk.”

“H-Hey!” Steve laughs and his lightly twists one of my nipples, “I was trying to be sweet, but if you don’t want it, just say so. Jerk.”

“If bein’ sweet is what helps you continue doin’ whatever it is that your hand is currently doin’, then please don’t stop.” The words come out breathy, but I can’t muster up the energy to care.

I start grinding down, trying to find friction to relief the ache that’s starting to build. Steve stills me with one hand to my hip before lifting me so he can shimmy out of his pants. Steve settles me over his lap and takes a deep breath. He guides me down, softly murmuring encouragements under his breath, and I let myself float away with the sensations. I let myself take pleasure where, until recently, there has been so much pain. And it’s glorious. Steve moves slowly, letting me adjust at each stage, and before long, we have a rhythm going. I let my mind drift as I float with the waves of pleasure, each greater in intensity than the last. As my mind clears from the last wave, I notice Steve’s breathing change and his rhythm falters. I murmur sweet nothings to him as he yells then lays his head on my chest.

“You did so good baby. Thank you,” I lightly push him until he lays back on the bed. “Come on, let’s get some sleep.”

“I should be saying that to you. Stay with me tonight?” The words slur out of Steve’s mouth and his eyes slid closed.

“Yes, I’ll stay. You can sweet talk me tomorrow.” I rearrange Steve until he’s properly on the bed. I use some of the undergarments (I can go with less of _those._ ) to clean us up, and then I curl up next to Steve.

“я люблю тебя.” I whisper into Steve’s chest as I drift off into my own dreams. “я люблю только тебя.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> я люблю тебя = I love you  
> я люблю только тебя = I love only you


	7. Chapter 7

I woke to the feeling of arms warm around my middle. At first, I thought I was back in the small flat with Steve, and then my brain caught up with my reality. I gently shift so that I can reassure myself that it is indeed Steve tangled with me. I burrow into his chest, not wanting to face the world outside of his arms just yet. Steve’s grip tightens around me and I feel myself drifting off to sleep again.

Nightmare. That’s all this is, just one jumbled nightmare. Yet I can’t break out of the images. Dead and bloody faces press towards me. Hands, dripping red, stretch out towards me. Laughter reaches my ears, sounding like a horror film hybrid of all my past handlers. I scream, the bodies and blood threaten to overwhelm me. My thrashing only seeming to make things worse. I scream at the realization that the bodies of those that I’ve killed are going to be my coffin.

“Bucky”

The mouths of those closest to me utter my name in a farce of the voice that belongs to the person most dear to me. The faces start to shift, taking the forms of my Commandos, my family, and the few people that I came to care for in the past half century. They start yelling my name and a few reach out as if to grasp me.

“Bucky!”

The corpses are reaching for me with increasing urgency. I fight. Even though I know that it’s a lost fight, for who can win against the vengeful dead? I scream louder.

“Leave me alone! It wasn’t my fault! I had no choice. It was you or me, and god help me, I chose you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t stronger! God help me, I wish I had been stronger.”

The faces remain stoic in their agony. My pleas for mercy fall on deaf ears. This is my fate. I should just give in.

“Jane, it’s a dream. Wake up!”

I’m shaken awake. I slowly find my way out of the dreamscape and my immediate surroundings start to make sense. The first thing I notice is that I’m being pinned to a bed. The body resting on top of me is a lot more solid than my handlers usually are. The next thing I notice is that whoever is above me does not seem to intend to harm me.

“Jane, it’s okay. I promise. It was just a nightmare. You’re safe. You’re here with me.”

I look up and find myself staring into the most dazzling blue eyes I’ve ever seen. I focus on those eyes and try to wipe the fog away from the remnants of sleep. I think back, remembering a raucous party filled with drink, a bath with a beautiful woman, and a medical procedure. Then it hits me. The man above me is Steve. _My_ Steve. I grapple onto his arms, pulling him towards me. Steve’s arms wrap around me, instead of pinning my arms, and he begins to whisper words of comfort.

“It’s alright. I’ve got you. You’re safe. I promise, nothing will harm you while you’re with me. It’s okay. I’m here for you. I love you Jane Barnes, and don’t you forget that.”

“Steve Rogers, you better stay as close to me as possible for the rest of your life. That way you can keep those promises. We both attract trouble like a pair of magnets.”

Steve laughs, soft and bright, while tightening his hold on me.

“I’ll stay as close as is decent. Which is pretty close nowadays. There’s less laws, even socially, about things like that.

“Only you would think about something as little as a law. I swear Rogers; you are the biggest punk I ever saw.”

“And _you_  are the biggest jerk I’ve ever seen. So we’re even.”

We sit in silence for a bit. I let him sift his hands through my hair for a bit before trying to speak again. The normalcy of the intimate contact reassuring after the nightmare.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“When? Before or after I woke up to a highly trained assassin thrashing about next to me?” I gave him a pointed look and he shot one hand up in surrender. “Okay, okay! No, you didn’t hurt me. You almost pushed me off the bed though. I don’t think I could have restrained you if it had been a fair fight though. You’ve gotten stronger than I remember.”

“I’m glad I didn’t hurt you. And I better have, I’ve been training while you spent your time on ice. I need to have kept one thing constant through all these years. Don’t need you having an unfair advantage on me.”

“Hmm, now what advantage would that be?”

Steve’s question came out muffled as he nuzzled his face into my neck. I hummed my approval.

“It’s called your undying resolution to all that’s good and righteous. The American Dream and all that. Or it could be that I’d never be able to resist you anyway, so having the strength to keep me in one place is redundant. Or it could be that your boyish good looks and wholesome appearance have everyone fooled into thinking that you’re America’s poster boy.”

“You tell me when you figure it out. Mmkay? Until then, I’m going to revel in the sight, taste, and smell of you. I missed you.”

Laughter rips through my throat as Steve’s hand find ticklish spots that I had forgotten about. I fight for breath in between my laughs. The mood having lightened significantly from the time when I first woke up. Relief floods my being, I was worried that my having nightmares would scare him away. Obviously, this fear was unfounded. We never could stand to be apart from each other, even, especially, when Steve was on the brink of death.

“Steve, I swear, you are so weird. You missed my _smell_?”

A wet patch appears on my throat as Steve licks me. I squeal like the girl I haven’t felt like in so long.

“And taste. Don’t forget taste and let’s not leave out hearing. I missed hearing you talk to me. Plus the cute noises you make when I do things like this.”

Another wet stripe appears as Steve licks another section of my neck. The same noise weasels its way out as I try to get away from this new assault.

“Rogers, I swear, if you don’t stop with that-“

“You’ll what? Flip me? Whatcha gonna do?”

Steve licks me once more and I take his challenge. I hook my legs under his and shift my weight just enough that I can leverage myself on top of him. I sit, basking in the shocked expression on his face. That’s almost good enough for a proper revenge, but I decide to go for the kill. I lick the side of Steve’s face from jaw to temple and then I run towards the door.

“Y-you!”

Steve scrambles to get out of the bed, getting tangled in the sheets for a moment. But it’s just long enough for me to reach the door and throw it open. I’m about to rush out when I hear a gasp. I turn away from Steve just long enough to see Sif standing with a hand raised, as if to knock on the door that is now wide open. I then realize that both Steve and I are naked.

“Sif. So nice to see you. Would you mind if I closed the door for a moment?”

Sif lowers her hand and gives me a slight nod, eyebrow raised.

“Do as you like. I’ll be here when you two are ready.”

I close the door, turn to Steve, and immediately start laughing. He’s holding a pillow in front of him, one he must have grabbed while I had the door open, and his blush extends to his chest.

“I forgot we were guests in someone else’s house. Guess we better get dressed then, huh? Or are you too mortified to make an appearance now?”

The pillow misses my head by an inch. I laugh again while finding my clothes from the pile on the floor. I pull them on after throwing Steve’s at him. I watch Steve, finally extricated from the sheets, pull on his pants then shirt. I marvel at the sight of him, the power reflected in every movement and the way his skin moves over muscle and bone. For a moment, I am in three places in time. I see the skinny Brooklyn boy, all skin and bones and fire. I see the newly made Captain, uncomfortable in his new body with its health and reflecting what I’ve always seen. I see the man currently in front of me, finally comfortable in his skin and world-weary but still burning with the same fire from so long ago.

Steve gives me a questioning look, I just shake my head and hold my hand out. He takes it and I open the door once again to see Sif standing a few feet away, talking to someone. She gives them a nod and they walk away as she walks towards us.

“I was coming to see if you would like join Thor, myself, and the Warriors Three to break our fasts. I did not mean to interrupt your time together.”

I laugh as I squeeze Steve’s hand.

“No, you’re fine. We were done, just acting like the fools we are.”

“Hey! Speak for yourself! I was viciously assaulted after trying to be nice this morning.”

Sif gave us a queer look before shaking her head.

“If you would like to follow me? I’ll take you to our meal hall.”

We follow her for a few turns before we end up at the same room where we spent last night drinking with the locals. This time, the room is quieter and less full. Thor sits across from three men, the big one named Volstagg and two I don’t recognize. Sif sits next to Thor and gestures for us to do the same. Thor is engaged in a conversation with the three men that stops when we sit. I catch a small part of the conversation, something about future hunts and battle formations.

“Ah! Here they are! I believe you two have met Volstagg.” Volstagg nods in our direction, lifting a giant cup. I can only hope it’s filled less with ale and more with water. I don’t want a repeat of last night so soon. “Allow me to introduce the others. This fair faced scoundrel is Fandral. He is the known for his conquests both on and off the field of battle. And my noble friend is Hogun. He is quiet, but that is because he holds his words for when they are truly important.” Hogun nods to us then turns his attention back to Thor. “And together they make up the Warriors Three. A better band of shield brothers has never existed. I wish that we are always on the same side my friends. That includes you, Lady Sif. For a better woman warrior has yet to be found.” Thor glances towards me, “No offense to present company. I have yet to see you fight, friend.”

“By all means, I agree. I consider myself more of an assassin than a warrior, so your statement holds true. Besides, Sif and I still have yet to spar.”

Thor raises his cup with a shout and the others do the same. They cheer and drink while I remember my days with Steve and the Commandos. We felt the same way while trekking across the backwoods of Europe. Steve squeezes a hand on my thigh, and I know he’s thinking the same. I make a mental note to find out what happened to our companions when we return to Earth. The conversation turns to glory stories and bragging. After a few bites, I content myself to watching the show. My stomach is threatening to revolt against the small amount of food that I just ate and I don't want to push it any further. Thor and his friends live an animated life, one that I almost envy. At the end of the day, they are just like any band of warriors. The Commandos and I acted the same at every tavern and underground bar we found.

As the meal starts to wind down, someone enters the room. Thor speaks to them briefly before turning to us.

“Friends, Heimdall wishes to have a word with us. But first, the healer wishes to see Bucky and check to make sure that she is alright. Come, let us finish this business so we can move onto more enjoyable past times.”

Thor leads us to a room that can only be described as medical. The checkup is routine, despite the differences in technology. The doctor gives me a clean bill of health. She can find no residual scarring on the brain and while she cannot determine any potential side effects, she does not expect them to be life threatening. She also mentions something about taking it easy and staying away from needless battles, but she also doesn’t know Steve. I’d have to leave him altogether in order to stay out of needless fights and that’s something that’s not ever going to happen.

Sif stops us before we leave the medical wing for Heimdall. She presses something small into my palm.

"This is for you. It will always come to you in your time of need. I had the finest weapons smiths craft it for you. It's enchanted to stay hidden to others until you unsheathe it."

I looked at the small stiletto. It was simple. The sheath some kind of soft leather, the handle's metal twisted in small spirals, and the blade itself was engraved with runes that I have never seen before.

"Thank you." My voice sounds small, I'm almost annoyed by that until I realize that it's awe that I'm expressing. The gift come in handy and probably cost a small fortune. "I mean that, thank you."

"Think nothing of it. From one warrior to another. A gift of recognition of all your accomplishments. The biggest thanks I could get is that sparring match you promised me." Sif gestured for me to follow Steve and Thor. I took her up on the offer to get away from the emotionally charged moment.

* * *

 

The trek to Heimdall takes just as long as I remember it taking when we first got here. The Bifrost is kept far away as a safety precaution, but that doesn’t mean I have to like the amount of time it takes to get from one place to the next. Heimdall is still as intimidating as I remember too. Which means something, coming from me.

“Ah, I see you are recovering well. Do you plan to abide by the healer’s decree to stay out of battle?”

I laugh, as unnerved as I am by him knowing what just happened, I find I’m not all that surprised.

“If she knew Steve as well as I do, she’d know that her words are useless. There’s no staying out of anything while he’s around.”

“Well _excuse_ me. I just don’t like bullies. Don’t much care where they’re from.”

Heimdall chuckles, before turning serious.

“Friends, I apologize, but my message is not pleasant. It seems that while you were away from Midgard, your friend with the iron suit has created quite a stir. The local government is calling for Bucky’s surrender for a trial. He has told them that Steve knows of your location and now they are calling for his cooperation. If you do not return soon, I fear for the safety of your friends and your ability to return to your home.”

Thor bristles at the news. Steve doesn’t react much better, but I squeeze his hand before he can shout his objection.

“We knew we’d have to go back eventually and we knew that the government would want to crucify me if they ever found me. Now as I see it, we can delay the inevitable and try to live here for the rest of our days or we can just go back now and get it all over with.”

I stare down the both of them.

“I’m ready to make my peace with what has happened. If they find me lacking, then that’s on them. Are you ready to help me with this or do I have to go on my own?”

Steve looks ashamed and Thor looks like a mix of proud and uncomfortable.

“Buck, Jane, if this is what you want to do, then we’ll do it. You know I’ll stand by you no matter what. We’ll make them see the truth. I know someone who can help us build a defense and even if Tony has gone off the deep end, I’m sure Pepper would be willing to help us. We’ll get through this, just like everything else life has thrown at us.” He throws an arm around my shoulder and hugs me to him. “I won’t lose you again. Not again. Never again. They’ll have to tear you from my dead body before I let someone harm you again.”

“Thanks for the imagery lover boy. Now, Heimdall, can we get this show on the road?”

Heimdall nods and starts the Bifrost.

“Thor, you are needed here. Your father has requested your presence. You may join your friends once you are finished with his request.”

Thor turns to us and grabs us in the strongest bear hug I’ve ever experienced.

“I will join you two as soon as I can. I will not abandon you to fight this alone. I promise you that.”

I pat Thor’s back and then give him a nod when he releases us. I pull Steve threw the Bifrost with me.

* * *

 

We emerge on top of the Tower, just like we left. It’s the middle of the day and we’re greeted by a man running at us from the roof access door. Steve shifts into a battle stance and I follow his lead.

“Wait!! I promise! I’m not here to attack. It’s just me Steve, it’s Sam!”

Steve glances at me, then lowers his fists.

“What’s going on Sam, Heimdall told us that Tony told the government that I’m hiding Bucky from them?”

Sam comes to a stop in front of us. I recognize him from the fights right before my programming broke. I feel a little bad for almost killing him, that wing suit was actually pretty cool.

“Yeah, something like that. Come on, let’s get you to my floor. We’ll talk there and figure out what to do.”

Steve follows Sam, pausing just long enough to reach for my hand. I follow them. Steve clearly trusts this Sam and he’s always been a great judge of character. I still can’t shake the feeling of being watched though and it puts me on edge. There’s more to what’s going on than what I know and the lack of information needles at me.

“Why can’t we just go to my floor?”

“There’s feds all over your floor. It’s not safe. Besides, JARVIS won’t let Tony do something stupid if it’ll impact the rest of us.”

The ride in the elevator is tense. I’m ready for a betrayal, for the inevitable sight of raised guns when we stop. When it doesn’t come and Sam is smuggling us into his set of rooms before I can get the bearing on my surroundings.

“You guys have been gone for a week. Tony went AWOL while you were away Steve. There’s a lot to catch up on.”

Sam stops talking abruptly and stares at me.

“Steve, this is?”

“Bucky. Bucky, meet Sam Wilson. He’s one of the only people that I find I can trust in this century. Sam, meet Jane “Bucky” Barnes. My best friend since childhood and my common law wife.”

“Steve!” I smack his arm. “You have never referred to me as such before, why are you starting now? I thought we were going to do the big ceremony! All the pomp and circumstance!”

Sam’s eyes bulge as he realizes that A) I’m female and B) that Captain America has a common law wife that he never made an honest woman out of. Or, at least that’s what I think has him surprised.

“Buck, I did some research a while ago and that’s legally what we are.” Steve shrugged. “I mean it’s not like we didn’t-“

“Steven Grant Rogers, if the next thing out of your mouth is what I think it’s going to be then you better rethink that sentence.”

“It’s not like we had the money?”

I nodded slowly, Steve’s eyes glittered with the laughter he was holding in. Steve isn’t normally crass around other people, but when he was comfortable with the people in the room, all hell could break loose. Not that I was much better, but I still had a reputation to maintain.

“Now, Sam, what happened while we were gone? It was only two days to us, so we’re doing a lot of catch up here.”

Sam seemed to shake out of his initial shock. He leveled his gaze on me then took a deep breath.

“After all of this is over, we’re gonna have a rematch. I have major props to you for being able to take me down like you did. It really is true that women can match, even surpass, men at their own games.” Sam shook his head then gestured towards the couch next to them. “Let’s sit. This might take a while.”

Sam sat across from Steve and myself. He rubbed a hand along his face then settled into his narrative.

“You two left with Thor and something in Tony flipped. As you know Steve, the government proposed this bill to start making us held accountable for being superheroes. This goes especially for inhumans, since the government wants to keep an eye on anyone that could potentially level a city like New York to the ground. While I get where they’re coming from, they’re going about it all wrong. It’s turning into a list like the one they have sexual predators sign up for and that’s just going to cause a lot of deaths.” Steve’s fists tightened, I grabbed one with my right hand and gave it a squeeze. His fists loosened slightly. Sam kept talking. “-Tony has started supporting the bill and with most things Tony, it’s been rather public. The rest of us are little divided on it. I think Natasha is started to agree with Tony, but I haven’t heard her say anything to confirm that.”

My head snapped back to Sam as he mentioned a name that I remembered. He faltered and came to a stop.

“Do you… Do you know Natasha?”

“The Black Widow. Yes, I know her.” I lowered my eyes. I could feel my brow furrow and Steve’s eyes burning a hole through my skin. “Finish your story then we’ll get into what I remember.” I waved for Sam to continue. He cleared his throat, gave me a weird look, then continued.

“Well, the government has started that list already. It’s not quite public yet, but it’s not hard to find if you know what you’re looking for. There’s been a few hate crimes against anyone with powers and some people have gotten really vocal about holding us accountable for damages caused when we go out and battle the bad guys. Some are even suggesting that the casualties and damages would be a lot less if we weren’t involved altogether. Almost like we’re to blame for the bad guys using better weapons and tactics than our police forces are prepared for. Which is bullshit, by the way. These guys would do it even if we weren’t around. But I digress. Someone pulled up a few files that Natasha released during the Triskelion and now the country’s clamoring for The Winter Soldier to be found. One of those files included how the Winter Soldier was used to kill Howard and Maria Stark. Tony took exception to that and mentioned that Steve knew where to find you, but I don’t think anyone’s put together that the person they’re looking for is Bucky Barnes, Captain’s best friend and America’s original bad boy.” Sam coughed as he realized that the entire countries’ history books would have to be rewritten. “I mean… Man, I don’t know how to deal with this. Can I get some backstory on how a woman ended up on the front lines of World War 2 and not as a nurse?”

The abrupt change in conversation made my head spin. Apparently, I wasn’t as okay as I thought I was. But I looked at Steve then nodded at the question in his eyes. I took the lead before Steve could try to sugarcoat anything.

“I dressed up as a man to work at the docks. Steve used to be this little shit that got into trouble constantly, something that I’ve noticed that hasn’t changed, and part of that trouble was a shitty immune system that constantly tried to kill him. I’m pretty sure that the history books all give a short list of everything wrong with the kid before the serum made him Adonis.” Steve gave me a dirty look but sat back and let me continue. “Basically, I couldn’t make enough as a woman in a traditional role, like secretary or phone line operator, so I did the next best thing. I was never really all that busty and being around Steve meant I had to be ready for a fight at any time so I had some decent muscle mass. I got a job lifting packages at the docks near our flat and that paid for a little food and some of the medicines that Steve needed throughout the year. Things were going great until the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor and then the drafts started. Steve did everything he could think of to sign up and during one of the drafts one of the dock masters entered my name as someone that they had missed.”

I took a breath, I could feel the emotion from that period of my life coming back and it was a little overwhelming. Sam opened his mouth, probably to say something along the lines of ‘you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to’ but fuck it. I’m already recounting something that I’m sure Steve thought I had forgotten. “No, let me finish. There was a paperwork issue or something or someone just didn’t look too hard at my social and birth certificate. Either way, I received draft papers and I had a choice. Go honor the persona that I had been portraying to my boss or I could go back to being just a dame in the 40s. But if I chose the latter then I’d have to give up the only job that could pay enough for Steve’s medications and I couldn’t let the jerk go. So I went to basic, nearly died from exhaustion, but the paychecks were nice and my family promised to give Steve the money. They didn’t need it and everyone thought we were married anyway, so I guess Steve was sorta right earlier.”

Steve gave me a grin that screamed ‘I told you so’. I rolled my eyes and shrugged.

“No one noticed I didn’t have the right _equipment_  until my men and I were captured by Zola. By then I had earned my rank and loyalty from my men and they defended me as best they could.” I looked at Steve. “You should have seen Dum Dum and Morita trying to get the guards to take them instead of me. You would have been proud. They did right by me till the very end.” Steve squeezed my hand and nodded. I turned back to Sam. “I’m actually surprised more women didn’t try what I did. There were plenty out there as crazy as I was to try to defend the ones they loved. I guess I just fell through all the right cracks. Well, almost all of them.” A train in the middle of winter invaded my mind but I pushed it away. I didn’t want to dwell on that right now. “Oh, and Sam,”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry about your wing. Those things are cool. Any chance mini Stark could fix them for you?”

Sam laughed. “Min-mini Stark? Oh man, I need to use that one on him when he calms down from whatever the fuck this is.” He sobered quicker than I would have thought and regarded me with wary eyes. “I accept your apology for almost killing me. Let’s not replay that alright? I like my arms right where they are. Besides, Steve would be sad if I was gone. Who else is he going to fly past while doing simple jogging exercises?”

Steve laughed at that, leaving me the only one out on the joke. Steve caught my questioning glance and shook his head. Later then.

“Sam, is there any way to get Bucky out of here? There’s a small lodge upstate that I’d like to take her to if you think it’s safe. I feel like we’re sitting ducks here.”

Sam looked at Steve and shook his head.

“Naw man, Tony’s probably locked down the Tower until Bucky’s found. No one in and no one out except the FBI agents going through all your personal belongings.” Sam looked up, “JARVIS, would it be possible to get past the other agents in the building without anyone else noticing?”

“I am sorry, sir, but Mr. Stark has required me to alert him as soon as the Captain and Sargent returned from Asgard. As we speak, there is an agent on their way to speak with you. I took the liberty to not tell Mr. Stark that you, Mr. Wilson, were the one who picked them up on the roof but it will not be long before he figures that out for himself. However, I am under orders to prevent the agent from getting to you before Ms. Potts reaches you. She should be at your door shortly.”

We looked at each other, each weighing the options available. I knew I could scale down the building. Steve would have a bit more trouble, but that could be compensated for. The only problem was that I had none of the gear required for such a feat. Besides, knowing Stark, he’d grab them off the side of the building in his suit before they managed to get to a safe enough distance to freefall. It looked like the only feasible option was to stay and hear out the agent.

“I guess we’re accepting a guest, boys. Shall we make ourselves presentable?”

Steve, Sam, and I stared at each other for a bit. There was a knock on the door. Sam got up first and opened to door to his suite. To my surprise, the woman who walked through the door didn’t stop until she was standing in front of me.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Pepper Potts. And you must be the Bucky Barnes that I keep hearing about.”

A hand was thrust towards me. I blinked for a few seconds before taking the offered hand and shook it. Pepper had offered her left hand, which meant that I had to shake her flesh hand with my metal one. To her credit, the woman didn’t flinch.

“I’m probably not who you think I am, but by all means, it’s a pleasure. Now, what is so important that you wanted to speak to me before I get carted off to where ever it is they take super assassins?”

Steve’s hand tightened on mine, probably a warning, but I was too stressed by the lack of options to care. Pepper’s eyes widened a bit and then she sunk down onto the ottoman in front of me.

“No one told me you were… That you weren’t…”

Steve and Sam stayed out of the conversation, I was thankful for that. I wanted to handle this on my own.

“That I’m not actually the big male persona that everyone thinks I am? Yeah, no. They missed that part in your history books. I mean, kinda the point of it being a secret, but still. I’m a little surprised none of the Commandos let it slip in their old age. They must have been more soft on my than I thought.” I turned and looked at Steve. “What do you think Stevie? Are you surprised that the boys didn’t tell at least someone by now?”

Steve shook his head, something weird in his eyes.

“No Buck. They would never have betrayed you like that. We all felt responsible for you falling off that train. They would have taken your secret to the grave with them. Even Peggy never knew which always surprised me because Peggy was so observant.”

Pepper looked between the two of them then rubbed her temples.

“This just got a lot more complicated than I thought. Well, since most of the country is operating under the assumption that the Winter Soldier, and Bucky Barnes, is male, we could always lie to the agent that’s no doubt on his way now. However, what I originally came here to do was offer my services in finding you a lawyer. We can’t hold you here; that would make the situation with the government worse right now. But I can promise to find you the best defense lawyer in the country.”

Steve moved his hand from my hand to my thigh. He squeeze slightly, then spoke. Pepper catalogued all of it. I was starting to like her.

“Why would you do that?”

Pepper looked at Steve with confusion.

“Why wouldn’t I offer to help you?”

“Because your boyfriend has a vendetta against me or against Bucky. I’m not really sure which of us it is that he hates more right now.”

“Well, I’m not him. I’ve been listening to the news and while most of it is absolute crap, some of it has me wondering how much we don’t know. Besides, I figured if this person someone that Captain America decided needed to be saved, then they can’t be all that bad of a person. Am I wrong?”

Steve appraised Pepper for a few moments before nodding. I was really starting to like her. I couldn’t quite get myself to agree with her that I was a good person, but Steve never failed to pick out the good in people. I trusted his judgement more than anything else in this world.

“So what happens now?”

Pepper turned to look back at me.

“Now, we let the agent in and relinquish you to their custody. To do anything less would be an obstruction of justice and land all of us in jail. With us out here though, we can work in your favor. I can find the best lawyer for the job while Sam and Steve gather materials for your defense. Maybe even do a few press conferences on the situation.”

I nodded. The woman spoke sense. She knew her shit and Bucky was finding that she was starting to trust this woman a lot for someone that she just met.

“One question before we get started.”

Pepper raised an eyebrow.

“What the fuck do you see in Tony Stark?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the rest of this fic mapped out and work schedule willing, I'll have the rest out in the next month or so. Also, there'll be a bonus chapter from Steve's pov.
> 
> Please, leave comments so I know if I'm reaching my intended effect! I love criticisms and praises. They help me figure out where to adjust. I'm doing this without a beta, so I enjoy the feedback.


	8. Chapter 8

“What the fuck do you see in Tony Stark?”

Pepper laughed loudly, the sound reminded me of a tinkling bell.

“We’ll table that conversation for another time. I’m not quite sure myself. He just… grows on you.”

I nodded, “I can understand that.” One glance at Steve told me he knew exactly where I was going to go and before he had a chance to defend himself I finished my statement. “Kinda like this lug here. Got me in ta more fights ‘n a street cat. Ended up wit’ more bruises than I knew what ta do wit’ but I never could get myself to give him up.”

Pepper raised an eyebrow at the Brooklyn accent. I shrugged, I had no idea why it decided to come out now. Steve chuckled lightly, probably just as surprised at my accent regression.

I looked at the three gathered around me. I knew I could trust one, did trust one, wholeheartedly, but the other two? I had no basis of what they were like and no idea of where they stood on the subject of ‘me’. I know that I had tried to kill one of them (Still a little sorry about that. Steve seems to like him.) but the woman? She’s with the man that tried to get Steve in trouble. Who’s to say that she isn’t trying to further that goal? Once again, I felt like a trapped animal. Limited options, none of them ideal (That’s nothing new, the only difference is now I make the choice). Ultimately, I decide to let Steve’s trust in these two dictate my actions.

“Could Steve and I have a moment alone before you let the fed in?”

Pepper nodded and went to go stand by the door with Sam. They immediately engrossed themselves in a conversation, giving us an impression of privacy. I turned to look at Steve, he was already looking at me like it was going to be our last time to see each other.

“Now, don’t give me that look. This’ll just be like the time when the doctors and my ma told me that I couldn’t come see you while you were sick with pneumonia. Never mind the fact that I never listened, that’s not important. What’s important is that I’ll see you again. Probably soon. How long can something like this take, anyway?”

Steve slumped in his seat. Shoulders rolling in, spine collapsed in on itself, arms crossed. He almost looked as small as he used to be before the serum. His eyes grew incredibly sad. I knew I had done something wrong, said something I shouldn’t have. He never shut down like this unless something was horribly wrong, like when his mom died or when he realized that the Army was never going to take a runt like him (Remembering the past, _my_ past, our past still feels weird. It still feels like the memories belong to someone else, as if I’m borrowing the events from a movie).

“Buck, trials take forever. Especially now. Especially cases like this, and there’s never been a case like this. It’s probably going to take a few years. I don’t think I’ll even be able to come visit you.”

Steve reached out a hand, I took it. Steve needed me to be strong and I can do that. I can be that rock even if I don’t feel like it. I know that I’m probably not going to make it out of a trial alive. If the government doesn’t find me guilty then HYDRA will. I reach a hand to his face, wiping an imaginary tear from his cheek.

“Steve, you can’t think like that right now. I’ll be fine.” I run my thumb across his cheek again, who knows when I’ll next be able to do that, “We’ll be fine. I promise. Have I ever broken a promise to you?”

Steve shook his head, refusing to look me in the eye. He simply sat there, curled in on himself. Even though I felt much the same, I couldn't let him stay like this once I left. Who would take proper care of him while I was away? Who would make sure he doesn't sit in his room, pencil in hand, refusing to eat, sleep, or _do_ anything?

I removed my hand from his and brought both hands to his face. I manhandled him until he looked at me again. I gave him my softest smile, one that I knew he'd be reminded of the past with.

"Steve," I kept eye contact with him, eyes locked of his, "Steve, I need you to do something for me while I'm locked away wherever it is that they take people like me while we wait for trial. Don't give me that face, I know what you're thinking and stop it. I need you to go to a few locations for me and get the items I have stashed there. This will pay for the lawyer fees as well as give you some insight into what I did while I was AWOL and potentially provide evidence for the lawyer so h they can do their job." I gave his head a little shake, hoping to get him out of the funk he was digging for himself. "Steve, this is important. I needed you to do this for me. It's important."

Eventually Steve regained his posture. I could see the wheels turning in his head. I wasn't sure I wanted him to know all of my secure cache locations, but there was no time to really debate that with myself right now. SO I gave him only the ones that would be important to my defense, such that it is. I tore my eyes away from Steve's only when there was life back in them and searched the coffee table to my left for pen and paper. My eyes lit on a matching pad and pen set, (What is this guy, a fucking psych or something?) and I picked it up, my mind cataloguing the information on the first sheet as I tore it off (Grocery list, agenda, normal people items and habits).

I looked down at the paper and tried to figure out how to best leave the instructions to a few of the cache locations. Finally deciding, I wrote down a series of instructions that took up the better part of two pages. I looked from the paper to Steve, glanced at the two behind us, then set the paper in Steve's hands.

"I'm trusting you with these locations. The locations aren't important so much as the information contained at them. Some are hardcopies and others are flash drives. Please, don't take anyone else with you when you visit these locations, that's for your eyes only. I-" A sensation of intense uncertainty hit me and for a moment, I'm not sure what to do. I don't want Steve to see some of the things that happened to me. There are some memories even I would like to forget. But I also don't want Steve to see how I lived without him. Most of the caches are in dangerous parts of the world. "I didn't leave most of them in nice locations, so be careful okay? The one in Tajikistan is a little rough and hard to get to; it's near a Russian drug syndicate's territory in the mountains. You'll probably have to convince one of them help you get out there. If you mention the матрешка to a man named Dimitri outside of the only cafe in that town. Most of the caches are in similar types of danger zones." Steve opened his mouth, probably to admonish me about being too close to dangerous people or not taking down the obvious bad guys. "No, listen. You can yell at me later, I promise. Okay?" Steve nodded, sullen and sulking, but at least he listened. "We both spoke Russian and I left them alone on the terms that they left me alone. Besides, they shared an excellent vodka. It was nice to have something in common even if I didn't know who I was at the time."

I shook my head, I was getting derailed. I was trying to warn him about dangers and how to get around them.

"Bucky," I ignored him for a moment, I was trying to figure out what was missing. "Bucky, look at me." Tender, callous hands lifted my head and my breath caught at the blueness of the eyes that filled my vision. "There you are. Now, stop treating me like I'm small. I can take care of myself now, remember? Did you write down all of this in your instructions?" I nodded, slowly as if I was moving through water (Cold, it was ice in my veins. It's always ice that slows you down). "Okay, then I'm sure I'll figure it out. Now, may I kiss you one more time before we play nice with the government?"

I find myself nodding again and the ice in my veins thaws as he presses his lips to mine. It's a promise and a wish all wrapped up in love and adoration. I melt, the sensation almost overwhelming. There's possessiveness and rapture. There's a darkness, a shadow in the light that the contact brings. Before I can explore that, explore him, the kiss is over. Steve's pulled away from me and I can see the same shadow in his eyes. I know it's in mine as well. Sadness. Regret. Anger at being separated so soon after finding each other. I try to find the words to express this, to express that even if the world tries to tear us apart that I'd fight tooth and nail to crawl back to his side, but Steve turns his head and looks at Sam and Pepper.

"We're ready. You can let the agent in now."

They nod and the door is opening. My hand finds Steve's and I grasp it tighter than I would have liked to because as the two agents walk in (Two, we were expecting one. But I guess this makes more sense. Safety in numbers after all) I find that I am more anxious than I thought I would be. Pepper and Sam greet the two agents, giving a brief description of what they know of what happened and how they came to be in possession of The Winter Soldier. Steve squeezes my hand and stands as the two agents eventually make their way over to us. I can feel myself slipping back and it's easy, sickeningly easy to slide back into the Asset's mindset. I panic and then find comfort in the ability to still function regularly. So I wait.

"Captain America, I'm Special Agent DiNozzo and this is my partner Special Agent David. We're from the Federal Bureau of Investigations. We have information stating that you know who and where the person who is known by the codename Winter Soldier can be found. Is this information correct?"

Steve crosses his arms and gives them his best Captain face. I can see a million different memories of him doing the exact same thing to different people after Azzano up until the train mission. A migraine is starting to build behind my eyes so I close them until it goes away.

"It is. If you'd come around I'd like to introduce you."

I hear the fabric of their clothes swish as the agents walk around to stand in front of me. A sigh escapes me as I open my eyes. The man has slightly greying hair, as if the stress of his job has caused premature greying. The woman by his side has olive skin and holds herself differently than most FBI agents I've seen. I can tell she has more training than the man next to her and my threat assessment of them changes drastically. They went from mildly annoying to potentially a problem if I need to leave their custody prematurely. I can see them assessing me as well and the man has done little to hide the shock from his face.

"Agents, I'd like you meet Jane Bernadette Barnes. Also known as Bucky Barnes or the Winter Soldier. She was drafted into the Army as James Buchanan Barnes due to a mix up during a census. This is who your history books mention as my best friend. She's also this nation's longest held prisoner of war."

The agents look from Steve to me and back again. They're taking the news a lot less gracefully than Sam or Pepper. I can't tell if me speaking right now would help or hurt.

"You can just call me Bucky. I have no need for any of those other names."

The male agent, DiNozzo, sits on the cushion.

"Well, this case just got more complicated than I thought it would." He looked at Steve, "Captain, if I couldn't see the arm for myself I would have asked you if you had gone crazy. No offense."

"None taken."

The female agent looked at her partner; I caught a flicker of amused irritation before she focused her attention on me.

"Are you going to come quietly? We have a few questions that we'd like to ask you."

I catalogue her accent, Israeli, and nod.

"I have no intention of making your job harder than it already is." I held up my hands, wrists together, "Do what you need to."

Steve shifted next to me. I could tell that he was uncomfortable at the thought of me being handcuffed. A part of me felt pleased that he was being so protective of me, but at the same time, I didn't need him ruining our cooperation defense because he felt the need to defend me.

"No, we won't need to cuff you. Besides, I have the distinct feeling that you could break out of whatever we put on you so the act is really pointless."

I leveled my gaze on Agent DiNozzo and smiled. He recoiled and I chuckled. I stood, slowly and swept an arm in front of me.

"Lead the way, Agents."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> матрешка = Russian nesting doll


	9. Chapter 9

Steve followed us to the entrance of the building. I could see Tony standing at the edge of a balcony, surrounded by a group of people that I didn't recognize except for pictures of a group fighting aliens. Some of the building's other inhabitants had come out to see the ending to whatever caused the commotion in their building. A few looked simply curious, some wore disgust openly, and others looked confused. I caught a flash of red in my peripheral and a memory threatened to take me. I shook the memory away and continued my walk of shame out of the building and straight into flashes of light and a cacophony of sound. Steve disappeared in the press of bodies and I lifted a hand to shield my eyes to see if I could find him but the flurry of movement and sound increased. Finding Steve would be impossible in this, especially since the agents were pushing me forward as they shouted and shoved people out of the way, leading me to a black sedan. I felt hands grabbing at me as I climbed into the back of the car. Once the doors were shut, the sound died out. I took the moment to collect myself. The sound returned twice as the agents climbed into their respective sides of the car.

I closed my eyes and laid my head back. I felt the car start and pull away. My face grew hot and a pressure built at my eyelids. I pushed the feeling down and focused on breathing. The agents spoke to each other, remarking on press and leaks. The drive was longer than I felt ready for. I could feel the ice building in my veins (It's a figment of your imagination. You aren't there anymore. There's no one prepping you for cryo anymore. You haven't had that in your veins for a while now. Stop this, it's not real. Get a grip on yourself.) and that pressure moved from my eyes to my chest. For a moment I panicked, my eyes flew open as I tried to find out where they were siphoning out the air from. I could find nothing. I was simply in the back of a car. Faint notes of a song reached out to me as my senses and breathing evened out. My skin still crawled as if a thousand insects were buzzing underneath the surface. So I focused on breathing, trying to find the calm of the Asset. I would be no use to anyone if I freaked out and ruined whatever freedoms I had earned by turning myself in quietly. Besides, if these two agents are HYDRA then I need to be able to think clearly. I start cataloguing the streets that we pass, the turns that we take, noting businesses and any other potential landmarks in case I need to make my way on foot alone. The agents are talking softly, the words mostly blurred by the noises from the radio. I could tell what they were saying if I paid more attention to them, reading lips in mirrors and focusing to listen for their voices and not what the radio was playing, but I found that I just didn't care. The agents weren't acting suspicious, only DiNozzo looking back occasionally but that had to do more with driving than actually checking on me.

By the time my anxiety evened out totally, they pulled into parking garage next to a large, grey, nondescript building. Instead of following the arrows on the ground up to the next level, they went down. They stopped in front of a set of heavy looking steel doors. A few tactical looking agents stood in front of the doors, waiting for us to get out of the car. Agent David turned to look at me from the front seat.

"They're mainly here in case someone gets the idea that they can try to rescue you. Or kidnap in some cases. As long as you behave, we'll get along just fine, alright?"

Agent DiNozzo looked between Agent David and myself, he reminded me of a bobblehead. The comparison is almost enough to make me laugh; I think Agent David would enjoy the imagery too.

"I'll try to contain myself."

Agent David nodded and opened the car door. She yelled something to the men assembled at the door before letting me out of the back. Agent DiNozzo was already working his way towards the stairwell up to the platform the other agents were standing on, pausing only briefly to make sure we were following. There were jokes exchanged as I waited for the large doors to open and to be escorted to yet another elevator. I was starting to miss stairs. Then I'm being escorted down a hallway towards another set of doors, wooden this time.

"Welcome to the New York branch of the FBI."

DiNozzo gave me a cheeky smile as he opened the door and revealed a large workspace filled with desks and yet more agents all in varying degrees of work. The noise in the room slowly died down as we walked towards another hallway set near the back of the room. Acutely aware of the eyes that were now focused on me, I tried to hide my left arm as best as I could but between the Asgardian clothing and the metal there was not much I could do. So I gave up and settled into a confidence that only mildly felt false. I had taken out a room full of similar people before. Usually with better equipment and backup, but I had done worse with less. From the looks on some of the faces, some of them knew that fact too - whether from first hand experience of the aftermath or from photos. Either way, I was certainly the most dangerous person to have ever walked through those doors.

Eventually we enter an interrogation room. It’s as non-descript as the rest of the office space. I sit in the chair across from the one-way mirror and rest my hands on top of the table that separated me from the two agents. I waited. I had never been in this situation before. My parameters were always clear if I happened to be captured (Improbable, but statistically possible. Self-decommissioning. No HYDRA secrets were supposed to pass through me). I had been deployed on occasion to clean up the mess that someone left if another operative were to be captured or if someone was talking when they had no reason to be, so the room and the procedures of the agents were still familiar. Agent DiNozzo placed a small black, rectangular object in the center of the table. He pressed a button then looked up at me.

“Before we begin, please state your name for the record.”

Agent DiNozzo appeared to be taking the lead for the interrogation while Agent David seemed content to loom in the background.

“Jane Burdette Barnes.”

“Is that the only name you have been known by?”

“No.”

“Please state any other names or aliases you have gone by, for the record.”

“James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky Barnes. The Winter Soldier. The Asset.”

“Please state your birthdate for the record.”

“March 10, 1917.”

“Are you claiming to be nearly a hundred years old?”

“There’s not much claiming about it. I am.”

Agent David’s face does something funny in the corner of my eye and it takes me a moment to catalogue it as concealed laughter. I barely contain my own smirk.

“Do you have proof of such a claim?”

Nope, I lost the fight to contain the smirk.

“Not currently on my person, but I believe the Smithsonian has a forged document of my birth certificate somewhere. However, I’m sure one of my sisters managed to secure the real one somewhere. Although finding one of them to ask is likely to be hard since I have no idea where they are.” I took a breath then continued. “Alternatively, if you asked your local HYDRA leader for my records, I’m almost positive they’ll just hand them right over without too much of a fight.”

“So you admit to working with the terrorist organization known as HYDRA?”

“I don’t know if I’d classify it as working _with_ but yes, I was under their purview for the past fifty years.”

Agent DiNozzo rolled his eyes. I could tell that my sarcasm wasn’t being very helpful. We all knew what I was in there for and while I was willing to cooperate, that didn’t mean I had to make it easy on them.

“You are here due to information suggesting that you have been working for the terrorist organization known as HYDRA. Your previous statement colludes that information. Would you like to elaborate as to the terms of your employment or should we move on to another, more specific question?”

“I was not an employee. I was an Asset. I was a weapon. I had no control over where I was used or who I was used on. A weapon does not make decisions. A weapon does not have an opinion. So no, I was not an employee. There was nothing mutual about my time spent within the ranks of HYDRA.”

At this, the two agents exchanged a glance. Agent David left the room.

“So you’re saying that you did not decide to join HYDRA of your own volition nor did you agree to anything that you did while with them? That you were a prisoner?”

I nodded, “That’s correct.”

“Are you willing to discuss the details of what happened while you were being held by them?”

“I can give you a brief overview.” Agent DiNozzo waved a hand, I took that as a sign to go ahead. “They found me after I fell off a train during a mission with Captain America, Steve Rogers, to capture the scientist known as Arnim Zola in the middle of the Alps. Zola took this chance to perform more experiments on me, grafted a new arm onto the stump that I was left with after the fall, and laid the groundwork for my continued compliance as the new weapon of HYDRA. By the fifties, I believe I'm just guessing at dates since they didn't really give me any sense of time, I was transported to Russia. There they continued the conditioning and implemented cryostasis. I also helped train a small group of child soldiers, mostly girls, for some scientists. There were still experiments run on my at that time as well as regular conditioning. My first big mission where I crossed country borders was in what I believe was Texas. I don't know why, it could have been the ridiculous accents everyone around me had. I think that was in the early sixties. By the mid-sixties, I was a fully operational weapon that was being used regularly. I underwent a cycle of cryostasis containment, recalibration, conditioning, training, mission, decontamination, post mission debrief, training, another recalibration, back to cryostasis. That’s been the large part of my existence since then. This is the longest I’ve gone without a recalibration and cryostasis.”

“Were you told anything about your missions? Anything about the world around you that could help you pinpoint an exact timeline?”

“No. I told you, a weapon doesn’t require information like that. I was shown who to take out and where. No names. No identifiers. No rundown on how long I had been in stasis nor what year it was. I couldn’t string together enough of a fragment of thought to think beyond point, shoot, comply.”

“Did they feed you?”

“Oh, yeah sure. I was given a bag of nutrients that was sent directly to my body through a tube right after being taken out of stasis and while they were reconditioning me to answer to a handler. I believe you call it an IV now? But if you’re asking if they gave me steak dinners or even toast with butter on it, I have to disappoint you. I’ve been on an all liquid diet since I started cryostasis.”

Agent DiNozzo just blinked at me for a few moments. I wasn’t sure what was going through his head. Hell, I still wasn’t sure what was going through my own head half the time.

“Do you remember any specifics at all?”

“Sure,” I scoffed, I had many memories that were all highly specific. “I could tell you about the sensation of a knife being dragged slowly through your skin. I could tell you about the way your body convulses and how you taste copper when your brain is electrocuted. I could tell you exactly how long it takes to pass out when you’re being operated on, from several different places. I could tell you how long it takes someone to bleed out, just say which blood vessel you want cut. I could tell you how long it takes to do a lot of things, all of them painful. But somehow I don’t think those are the specifics you’re looking for.”

“Can you point out faces of members of HYDRA if I brought out a book of photos?”

It was my turn to blink. A part of me still violently rejected the thought of pointing out any of the people who had contact with me, whether they were handlers or not. I still felt the need to bend knee and beg for forgiveness and the pain that it brings from the very people this agent was suggesting I turn over. The rest of me felt disgust at even thinking of protecting the people who had tortured me for decades.

"Yes. But we could be here a while. Wanna start at the top of the chain and work our way down?"

Agent DiNozzo nodded and stood.

"I need to check with the DA, but if you're willing to cooperate we could strike a deal. Seeing as you're behaving and not killing anyone currently."

I waved a hand, watched him exit the room, and set myself to wait for a few hours. The chair wasn't all that comfortable, but comfort is relative. It was better than no chair. After all, it was the little things in life that got you from one day to the next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I don't hate Texans/Texas. Bucky was just used to hearing Russian at that point, and let's face it. The Brooklyn girl she is would have felt the same way.
> 
> P.S. I swear I haven't forgotten about this fic or its companion piece. I've just been having trouble figuring out how to do this next part.


	10. Chapter 10

This time the wait isn’t nearly as long as I was expecting. Agents DiNozzo and David walk in with someone new. Judging from the way they move around him, he’s their boss but there’s something more. They respect him and respect can be a dangerous weapon in the hands of a corrupt man or woman.

“Agent DiNozzo tells me that you’re willing to cooperate with us in order to receive a plea deal from the DA office.”

I nod.

“Good. That makes things easier for me.” The man sits down. I catalogue the confidence and calm behind his movements, he wasn’t scared of me. “I’m Director Gibbs. I’m hoping that we can come to a mutually beneficial agreement but ultimately I don’t get to set the terms of the deal. That’s in the hands of the DA. But what I can do is tell the DA how helpful and cooperative you’ve been if you’ll agree to what I’m about to ask you.” We stare at each other for a few moments before he continues. “My proposal is this: You help us identify any high level HYDRA agents that you can remember and testify against them. In return, I’ll try to help convince the DA that they need to go easy on you.”

I think about it. The laws in this century are likely to be different from what I’m used to. In fact, I realize that there’s probably a lot that’s different outside of fashion, technology, and food that HYDRA just never thought was important enough to brief me on. I open my mouth to speak and the Director holds up a hand.

“Think about it. I’m sure your friends will be sending a lawyer over for you to speak to as soon as they can. In the meantime, we’ll have to transfer you to a holding cell. It’ll be in solitary, for your protection. Visitors will be limited to just your lawyer, again for safety. Agents DiNozzo and David will escort you to the jail and they’ll be your point of contact with the agency. We’ll have more questions for you after you have your first meeting with your lawyer.”

I shrug, this has been the weirdest meeting I think I’ve ever been to, and that includes all the ones in HYDRA where people just stared at me for five hours like I was a museum exhibit. Although looking back, I kinda am, so that makes sense now. Agent David motions for me to stand and I’m once again walked past rows of desks filled with people staring at me. We go back to the parking garage and we once again get back into car, this time with armed escort.

I’m watching the buildings turn into trees as we drive towards upstate New York when the world just blanks out. By the time I realize I fell asleep, we’re pulling up to the gates of a large building that vaguely reminds me of something in my past. The guards let us past the gate, into the smallest building on the property, and I’m only able to place where that faint niggling came from when one of the guards speaks.

“Welcome to Sing Sing.”

Prison. My poor mother, God rest her soul, would have killed me herself if she were alive today. I can imagine just what she’d say. It reminded me of one lecture I received when I first started getting into fights with Steve.

_“Now Jane, why do you persist in running around with that Rogers boy? He always gets you into trouble!” A tall, olive-skinned woman towered over her daughter as she cleaned yet another set of cuts and bruises. “All you two seem to do is get into fights that you have no business being in.”_

_Bucky shrugged from the stool she was sitting on in the middle of their kitchen. She just couldn’t explain what drew her to Steve. Ever since she saved him that fateful day in grade school, they had been inseparable and Mrs. Rogers had no problems with Bucky spending so much time with Steve. Probably cause none of the other kids seemed to like him as much. Bucky could never figure out why._

_“I dunno Mama. We just can’t stand it when Jimmy Morris bullies the other kids!” Bucky winced as her mother cleaned a cut with more force than needed. “Honest Mama, if he would just stop picking on the younger kids I wouldn’t get hurt as much. Promise!”_

_Mrs. Barnes grabbed Bucky’s chin and stared in her eyes for a moment. Bucky could tell she was searching for something but she didn’t know what and quickly grew uncomfortable under the strong gaze._

_“Well I hope you two figure it out. And you don’t need to keep sticking up for him; Steve Rogers can take care of himself just fine.” She let go of Bucky’s chin and sighed, “Why did I have to have the most bullheaded daughter in all of Brooklyn. Hm?”_

 A guard shoved a white jumpsuit into my hands, interrupting my reverie. He instructed me to go behind a curtain, strip down, toss him my clothes, and change into the jumpsuit. I swear I heard the distinct sound of her turning over in her grave. Things could be worse though, considering.

“Here, you will abide by our rules. Whatever you did to land yourself and that fancy arm in here for, you listen to us now. What a guard says is law. We are not scared of you but you should be scared of us.”

The guards each gave me a speech as I passed them. One shoved a pair of shoes at me, another a blanket at me, another a pillow, and the last one merely stood there. I could feel that anxiety from earlier swelling and I tried my best to push it back down. I couldn’t afford to break down in front of them, to show weakness, any weakness was to give them power over me. I knew that I could take all of them out, with minimal injuries to myself, and break out of their steel doors and stone walls with ease. That should comfort me, the ability to get myself out at any time, but I found it just made me more anxious.

“Lights out is at 8pm every night. Lights up is at 7am every morning. Breakfast is served at 8am sharp, Lunch at noon, and dinner at 5pm. Since you’ll be in solitary, someone will bring these meals to you. You are to remain within sight of the doors at all times when a guard is bringing something to you. Visiting hours for family and friends are from 10am to 4pm on Saturdays but since you’ll only be able to see your lawyer, that doesn’t concern you until we’re told otherwise.”

The guard led the way from intake towards my cell and I found myself longing more and more for Steve. For Home. I was referred to as a number here. No one apparently knew who I was or what I had done. Probably more for their safety than mine. The anxiety brought a headache with it and by the time I was showed to my cell, solitary just like the Director had promised, the lights caused my head to pound. I had trouble focusing on the turns and hallways we took to get to my cell, so I focused on controlling my breathing and not vomiting.

When we reached my cell, double door entry, it was all I could do to keep standing. I had never had a headache this bad before. The ambient noises from the other cells caused that pounding to throb in time with the blood rushing through my veins. The feeling of ice crept up on me again. So I found my cot (Hard. But better than nothing. Better than cryo. Better than _that_ tube.) and I willed myself to sleep.

* * *

_Screaming. Blood. Fear. Darkness._

_I’m running. Running with all my might from something, someone, and I know that if I stop I’ll lose._

_My surroundings blur and shift. First, it’s snow, then it’s a cave, then I’m in a room that I swear I’ve seen thousands of times, and then I’m in a dark nothingness. All I know is that I need to keep running._

_I can hear laughter and I know that it’s whomever I’m running from taunting me._

_I see Zola and the accusing stares of past handlers._

_Each one is coming for me._

_I am faster than any of them, so I run._

_I know my limits. I know I can outrun them._

_I see a light ahead of me. I know that I need to reach it in order to survive._

_It’s so far away but I swear I could touch it if I just pushed myself._

_So I run faster, breathing labored._

_I run._

_God help me, I run._

* * *

And then I wake up.

I am alone in my cell and the lights are off, which must mean that it’s night time now. Solitary is exactly like its name describes. I take another look at my surroundings. The room is small; there’s a toilet in one corner, a shower opposite that, and the bed I’m lying on. Compared to the last 70 years, this place is a regular palace. There’s enough space in the middle for me to lay out and do simple exercises.

The pain from the headache is mostly gone, which is a good sign. The memory I had experienced earlier still bothered me. The vivid detail should have been impossible, had been impossible, ever since the mind wipes. I now understood why the doctors on Asgard wanted to keep me for observation. Whatever happened while they were trying to fix me, I had a feeling I wasn’t ready for the repercussions.

Glancing around the cell once more, I realized I was going to have a lot of time to figure out my jumbled memories and thoughts. I was going to have a lot of time to recount 70 years of torture and the 20 years that came before it. Whatever had happened to me, I was still young. Time had lost its grip on me and for whatever reason, life decided to use that to its advantage. I started to wonder what I had ever done to deserve something so horrible. What crime did I commit that God himself decided I need to start my punishment in this life and not the next? And the poor people whose lives I impacted so negatively? What did they do to deserve me? What did they do to deserve HYDRA’s ire? I realized there was no way I could make up for the lives I killed, for the lives I destroyed.

I stared at the ceiling and felt a foul mood creep out from my soul. I was angry. Angry at the world for getting involved in a war. Angry at the dock manager that added my name to the list. Angry at my inability to save my troop in Europe. Angry at Zola. Angry at Steve. Angry. It welled up inside until laying down became unbearable. The inactivity of it all, of my anger not having a target, of my inability to leave the room of my own freewill, of my inability to have held out just that little bit more.

I started pacing the floor, feeling caged. I thought about breaking out but reminded myself that I put myself in here and to take myself back out would defeat the purpose of this exercise in patience altogether. When pacing did nothing, I dropped to the floor and started doing simple strength exercises. Push-ups, sit-ups, planks, lunges, jumping jacks. Anything I could possibly think to do that would help burn off some of the pent up energy, the anger. After a few hours of these simple exercises, the lights slowly started to blink to life. I had barely worked up a sweat but the activity had helped, even if it was only a little.

I finally stopped when a guard brought my breakfast, sliding it to me through a hole in the door and telling me to just slide it back through when I was finished. The food looked appetizing, so I sat down on the bed and tried a little bit of each item on the plate. Eggs, no cheese, hash browns, a few slices of bacon, and an orange. There were two cartons on the tray as well. One of juice and one of milk.

I hadn’t had a decent meal since before I fell from the train back in ’44. I was tempted to just scarf the whole thing down, but I remembered a time when I had thought I had escaped. It was early in my imprisonment and they had let me get out to see what I would do. My first instinct was to get as far away as possible and when I found an empty farmhouse, I ate just about everything that was easily accessible. After months of starving, the food had tasted amazing but my body rejected it, violently, an hour later. By the time HYDRA came to collect me, I was curled up on the bathroom floor praying for it all to end.

So I went about things slowly. I nibbled a small piece of everything and made sure to drink the juice slowly. The milk would definitely be too rich for me. All I had to do was wait to see if my body would reject even this small bit. As I waited for the food to settle, my mood did too. A few minutes later, it came back up, less violently than last time, but still unpleasant. I put the tray with the remaining food back into the slot in the door and decided to lay down for a nap, letting myself drift.

I was woken up by a guard knocking on the inner door.

“Time to see your lawyer.”

The door opened and I slowly walked up to the guard. He put cuffs around my ankles and wrists then led me out of the cell. This time I kept up with the turns as we walked from solitary to the private meeting area. Gauging from the amount of turns, I guessed my cell was near the middle of the prison. A good defensible position, should the need arise.

The guard eventually opened up a room and let me precede him into the room. I sat down at the table and waited as the guard linked my cuffs to the ones on the tabletop. He left the room as two other men entered. One of the men was wearing sunglasses, an odd fashion choice, and the other was just slightly on the chubby side.

“My name is Matt Murdock and this is my partner Foggy Nelson. We were contacted by Miss Pepper Potts and she asked if we would defend you. We’d like to extend our services to you, if you’ll allow us the opportunity.”

I shrugged. My case was hopeless if you looked at the past 70 years compared to the 20 I lived before that. No amount of good I had done could ever balance out the bad.

“She shrugged Matt, I think that’s as good of an answer as we’ll get.”

I looked between the two lawyers. Now the sunglasses made sense.

“Nelson, is it? Any chance we’re related? I heard my sister got married to a Nelson.” Foggy blanched. I chuckled. “I’m kidding. I’ll let you guys defend me. A blind lawyer and his seeing eye lawyer is probably the best I can get at this point.”

Matt seemed to bristle at my jab.

“If you don’t want us as your lawyers, just say so. We’re here because we were told that you were innocent, or at least as innocent as you could be. If you’d like other counsel, then we’ll be on our way.”

I held up a hand, the right one.

“Sorry, I haven’t had much human interaction lately that didn’t involve me being beaten bloody at the end of it.” I sighed, “Trust Steve to call me innocent. I’m not. I let it happen to me. I allowed myself to become what I became because I wasn’t strong enough. I- I just gave in. So, no I don’t think I’m innocent.”

Foggy looked at Matt as they weighed what I said. Matt nodded and Foggy got out a pen and paper.

“Let’s start from the beginning. We’d like to get to know you as a client and as who you are.”

“Like, all the way from the beginning? Best friends since childhood and all that jazz? I’ve been alive longer than most and that’s going to take a while.”

Matt waved a hand and this time Foggy spoke.

“It helps us develop a better picture of what we’re dealing with and helps us defend you. If we can prove that you’re human,” Both of them look offended when I snort at the word human. “Then we can develop reasonable doubt in the minds of the jury.”

“Fine,” the word comes out a little more forceful and more like a sigh than I had intended, “I’ve been friends with Steve Rogers since we were both terrors to schoolyard bullies. I grew up with him in Brooklyn and I’ve been stuck with him ever since. Eventually we realized that there would be no one else for us. We were it for each other and we were happy with that. I got a job at the docks by pretending to be a man and we got by. Mrs. Rogers loved me, my parents weren’t too happy with the idea of me marrying Steve but they realized that I was too headstrong to choose anyone else. Besides, who else would’ve put up with a wife that was happier being out, active, and getting into fights with men, than being at home and raising a couple of kids.” I took a breath. “Then the war happened. Steve got all riled up about the reports of the shady things the Nazis were doing but most of America just sat on the sidelines. Then when we got hit by the Japs, we were all in. Steve wanted nothing more than to go over there and punch out with the biggest bully he had ever seen and I… I just wanted our small apartment, drafts and all. I just wanted us to sit this one out. But the universe or God or something had other ideas for me because I somehow got added to the draft and they picked my name.” I looked between the two of them. “Surely you know all of this from school right? I don’t have to go over the War?”

Foggy looked sympathetic and was probably about to tell me to skip over it but Matt cut him off.

“Anything you can give us, anything at all, will be helpful. Please, continue.”

I could feel myself crumbling inwards. So I let my body fall in on itself as I got into where my life went to shit.

“I was on the front lines with the 442nd. We saw all the action in the European theatre. I apparently was good at commanding and getting my brothers out of trouble, so I was bumped up to Sargent quickly. Most of my unit were the men that later made up the Howling Commandos, so we had a lot of trust built up. Then one day we were trudging through some Italian wilderness when we were overrun. That’s when we were captured and sent to that factory in Azzano.” I stopped and cleared my throat. “By then some of the men realized that I was female and, God bless them, they spent the majority of our time there trying to keep the Nazis from figuring it out. We knew they were running experiments on the prisoners and that none of the others came back once they were taken. We fell into some in-fighting occasionally but for the most part we tried to turn our attention to giving the Nazis as much hell as we could without dying.

“I think some part of us held out hope that we would be rescued or that they’d just let us go eventually. But one day they came to our cellblock and they took me. My men got roughed up a bit, trying to keep them from taking me, but I think their resistance just made them want to take me even more. They’d always take an extra step to try and torture us. Nothing would have prepared me for what Zola did though.”

Matt held up a hand, “Zola? As in, Arnim Zola? The scientist who helped the Red Skull?”

“That would be the one. May I continue?” Matt nodded and I trudged on. “They injected me with something. I didn’t know what it was at the time, but it was an attempt to recreate the serum that they used on Steve to make him Captain America. It killed everyone else that they injected it with but for some God forsaken reason, I survived. When they realized that I was the subject they were looking for, they upped their efforts. I was injected a few more times with different things. When I survived that, they moved to tests to see if it had worked. They suffocated me, flayed me, burned me, cut me, electrocuted me. Just about anything you could think to do to a human or animal, they did to me. At some point they figured out I was female, not the male solider that I was shouting I was.

“That’s when Zola took an extra interest in me. He would stop by at least once a day to see how I was “progressing.” Then one day, Steve showed up. I was convinced he was just another hallucination; I had been having a lot of those at this point. Probably the only way my mind could cope with what was happening. Steve saved me and when I saw the Red Skull, I thought I had seen true evil. I had actually seen it much earlier, but I wouldn’t realize that until later. I didn’t tell Steve anything about what went on. A field medic saw me once we got back to base ops. He declared me fit for duty but offered me the chance to go home, being a POW and all that. When I realized Steve was staying, I stayed too. I helped create and recruit the Commandos and they followed Steve and me to the ends of the Earth.

“No one knew about me being a woman, not even the field medic took that close a look, except for Steve and the Commandos. Peggy, poor girl, she mooned after Steve and he loved her. But I think she mistook it for a different kind of love. He respected her and she was really his only friend beyond me and the Commandos. She was the only woman to look at him twice when he was small, but he was mine just as much as I’m his. Things were pretty good in between the rescue and the train. I got to take out my anger on Nazis and Steve got to finally beat up the bullies. He never took a life unless he had to, but as for me, if they were a Nazi then I killed them.

“No one questioned if my wounds healed a bit faster than normal and no one paid attention if I took a few more risks than normal. I think even back then I had realized, to a degree, what had been done. I mean, if I had survived all of that and lived then not much was going to kill me. Turns out, I was more right than I’d have liked. When I fell off the train in the Alps, I didn’t expect to survive. But I did. I remember bits and pieces. I remember laying there in the snow and seeing my arm a few feet away from where it was supposed to be. I remember a trail of blood in the snow as I was dragged from one place to another. It goes in and out; I don’t really remember any pain until they attached the arm though. They had to saw off a piece of bone and there was no anesthesia. Zola told me that they were going to make me great right before I passed out.”

Foggy shifted in his seat, barely looking up from his notepad. Matt stared at me, which would have been creepy if he could actually see me. I took a sip from a cup of water that had appeared in front of me.

“From there, it’s just a bunch of shit. They starved me until I broke. Then they switched to beatings. If I didn’t behave properly, they’d detach the arm and let me sit in my cell for a few days. They rarely let me be any sort of clean. There were more experiments, more chemicals, more torture. Eventually things just start blurring. I lost a lot of time in between most events, either due to having no concept of time or because I was put in cryo. They started the cryostasis right before I was shipped off to Russia. That’s also when they switched me to an all liquid diet.”

Matt stopped me again, “You’ve been on liquids for the past 70 years?”

I nodded.

“Foggy, we’ll need to tell the guards that she needs to be given protein shakes and only the softest foods for the next few weeks.” Matt turned back to me, “Okay, you can continue.”

“When I stopped trying to get away, they switched from outright torture to actual training. I learned German, Russian, French, Japanese, and a slew of other languages. I spoke mostly in German or Russian at that point though. I was taught how to handle various weapons, from the garrote to knives of all shapes and sizes to every gun possible. I was taught hand-to-hand combat, they even brought in martial artists from different regions to train me when I was in Russia.

“But the actual science experiments never stopped. I was their guinea pig for just about everything they went on to use on everyone else. I’m the only one to survive the mind wipe procedure though; that would be what they refer to as a recalibration in their charts, by the way. I assume you have those. I was,” Here, I had to stop. The memories that were bombarding me were starting to cause a migraine. “I was taught that I was a weapon. I had no gender, I had no rights, I had no voice. I was The Asset. I was the Winter Soldier. I listened to my masters and any perceived infraction was met with more beatings and a recalibration. I had a handler who gave me my missions and I had my strike team who were simultaneously under my authority and there to keep me in line.

“But the experiments were the worst part about the beginning. They tested my ability to heal from all kinds of wounds, without medical aid. They tested my ability to withstand pain. They tested everything a scientist could possibly think to test. And I endured it all. I gave into what they wanted and I gave up. I did what they wanted. And eventually they didn’t even need to beat me to do it. I complied. I’m complicit.”

Matt raised a hand again,

“I understand this is hard, but do you have any specifics? Like who were your handlers? When did you come back to America? Who were your targets? Were there any others who were treated like you?”

I shook my head, “I only have a few names. I could point out faces a lot better. My last handler was Alexander Pierce. The others were mostly Russians who were high up in the HYDRA chain of command. My move to America was recent. Pierce was only my handler for the last 8 years or so. As for targets, I was never given names. They only ever provided a face and whether it had to be public or private. And as for others like me, you don’t have to worry about that. The only one who could have been treated even moderately like me died in a fire a long time ago. She,” I had to clear my throat; something was causing it to be hard to speak. “She was one of the Red Room candidates and she died in a fire that ended the program. I was sent there to train the most promising recruits.”

“Well, I’m glad there’s no one else like you running around out there.” Foggy’s comment was muttered under his breath, but not disguised well. To my surprise, Matt seemed to have heard it too.

“You and me both. I have a hard enough time trying to figure out how to fix what I’ve done. To think about trying to do that with two people? That’d be impossible, even for me.”

“At least you still have a sense of humor.” Matt chuckled. “Is there anything else you can think to tell us? Any questions for us? We know about the deal that the FBI offered. We think it might be your best bet for now, but seeing as they haven’t brought exact terms we still have some time to decide.”

“One question: do you still agree that I’m innocent?”

Matt took a moment to answer. Foggy’s hand stilled over the paper. Foggy spoke first.

“I think you’ve gone through a lot and did the best with the hand you were given.”

Matt nodded.

“I agree, while it may have physically been your finger that pulled the trigger, you had no choice. Most people put in your position wouldn’t have done half as well as you did.”

It was my turn to sit and blink for a few moments. Trust Steve to rub off on people and have them start thinking I’m worth a damn.

“So, Steve’s got you two schmucks convinced I’m a good person or something? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, I’ve done some pretty horrible things in my life. And they didn’t even have to threaten me for most of them.”

Both of them shook their heads.

“You’re scary. I’ll give you that, but I think there’s something deeper at work here.”

“Foggy’s right. You’re scary, but _you_ convinced me that you’re a good person deep down. I think we’ll develop a nice relationship as we work together. For now, let’s continue to work with the FBI and keep that channel open, but I think we can win a court case. For now, Foggy and I have to leave, but we’ll be back later this week when we have a better grasp on where we’d like to take the case. In the meantime, please try to think about whether you can remember anything specific. Anything at all that could help us substantiate your case that you were under duress while you were being held by HYDRA.”

Foggy stood, offering his arm to Matt, and they walked out of the room. A guard came in and uncuffed me from the table. She led me from the room, back to my cell. Once I walked past the inner door, she unfastened the cuffs from my ankles and wrists. Then she turned and I was alone again. I could still feel the migraine behind my eyes, but since I had stopped talking, it had lessened. I looked into the room and my dinner was sitting on my mattress. The tray held mashed potatoes, sans gravy, and applesauce. A cup filled with some type of liquid was next to the plate. As I carefully ate, I reminded myself to thank Pepper for finding the lawyers.

For the first time in 70 years, I felt hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And my writer's block is gone! This part of the story is almost finished. So, prepare yourselves, things are about to pick up!  
> Also, say hello to Daredevil and his wonderful, underrated lawyer companion.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sooooo sorry it's been forever since I updated. I got past the part that was giving me trouble and now I'm hoping to breeze through the rest.
> 
> Translations are at the end. I use Google Translate, so if there are any errors please let me know.

Three months later, I find myself in a room that's trying hard to look like it isn't in the middle of a prison. Across from me is Dr. Belle, Matt and Foggy came back with her name and a note from Steve saying that he had seen her himself and that was all I needed. But now that I'm actually face-to-face with this woman, I find myself more nervous than I thought I'd be.

Dr. Belle watches me as I watch her. The corners of her warm brown eyes crinkle as she smiles at me, causing lines to appear in her otherwise smooth dark skin. I watch as she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear with her mottled brown-and-white hand.

“From what I've been told, which isn't much, you've spent much of the last few decades out of the loop on current events. So please, feel free to ask me any questions. I'm sure there's much you're curious about.”

“код”

Dr. Belle's eyes widen slightly and her smile drops a fraction.

“I'm sorry, I don't speak that language. I was under the impression that you spoke English dear. Do I need to get a translator for you? Do you want someone who speaks your language instead?”

I tilt my head, either the doctor is an exceptional actor or she legitimately has no idea what I just said. I decide she's not an agent when I see the deep concern in her eyes as she starts to get up out of her seat.

“Wait,” I hold up a hand and motion for her to sit back down. “Sorry, that was a test.”

Dr. Belle sits back down and leans forward towards me.

“So, did I pass your test?”

“Yes and no.” I shake my head. “Sorry, I know that's confusing. You passed in the sense that you had no idea what I was asking for and failed in since you didn't know what the correct response was. Ultimately, I'm glad you failed that one.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I'd have had to kill you if you could have answered that one correctly.”

I watch as Dr. Belle moved away from me, her eyes flitting towards the door where a guard most likely stood.

“I scare you. It's okay, most people are scared of me nowadays.” I lean back in my seat, attempting to make myself smaller. “Steve told me he trusts you. I just needed to double check. He normally only trusts the good ones, but recent events have made me... Distrustful.”

Dr. Belle visibly makes herself relax. I can tell she's still on edge, but hopefully I can make her trust me a little better.

“You had asked me if I had any questions for you about this decade. I learned a lot while I was on my own. At the time I didn't quite know what I was doing, but ever since we made the trip to Asgard, everything's become clearer. My most immediate question is, did it hurt?”

“Did what hurt?” This time Dr. Belle's head tilted slightly.

“Whatever it was that caused your hands to change color like that.”

“No,” Dr. Belle laughs, I find I like the sound. “No, I have what's called vitiligo. It's not painful in any way. It just means that my skin decided to be more than one color.”

“Huh,” I slump in my chair a bit more, “there was an albino man in our neighborhood growing up. Steve and I would help him run errands as a way to earn some pocket change. The other kids in our grade made fun of him, but not my Stevie. I think that just made him even more determined to help the poor guy out.”

“That's a very lovely story. I'm glad the two of you went out of your way to help him. I'm sure he appreciated that.” Dr. Belle picked up a small, rectangular device. “This is a recorder. Normally I wouldn't even ask, but I'd like to record our sessions. It would help me be able to make the necessary notes for the court as well as potentially provide your lawyers material to defend you with. Are you willing to have your sessions recorded?”

I shrug.

“I'm already in deep water, might as well go deeper.”

Dr. Belle leaned over to place the recorder on the table in between us.

“My name is Dr. Leah Belle. The date is August 21st, 2016. It is my first meeting with the client.” She looked up at me. “Please, state your name and date of birth for the record.”

“Jane Burdette Barnes. March 10, 1917.”

“Thank you Jane. Please state whether or not you consent to the audio recording of our therapy session.”

“Call me Bucky, and yes. Yes, I consent to the recording of our sessions.”

“Thank you, Bucky.” Dr. Belle nodded. “Now we had started our meeting off on an odd foot. I had asked you if you had any questions for me and you responded with a word in another language. Would you mind explaining why you did that?”

“Sure. The word is Russian, 'код'. It means 'code'. I was asking you for the handler code word.”

“Thank you for explaining that, I don't speak Russian so I did not understand. Now, you had said that it was a test of some sort? Why would you ask me for a handler code? What does that mean to you?”

“Woah, slow down there Doc.” I shake my head. “I'll try to answer your questions in order. First: yes, it was a test. It was a test to see if you were an agent sent by HYDRA to reclaim me as their asset. Had you known what I was asking, you would have responded with a word or a series of words, a code if you will, that would have triggered something in me to comply with your every wish. That code, had you known it, would have sent me back to the mindless weapon that I've been for the last 50 years or so.”

“I see. That's very serious. Do you remember what that code is? Is there a way to prevent it from working?”

“I remember everything. Whatever happened on Asgard, it made all my memories come back.” I shrug my shoulders. “I don't know if the code even works on me any more. But there's enough time in between the first part of the code and the part where I lose control for me to take out a room full of people. So if you had known the code, I would have been forced to take you out. No hard feelings, Doc. It's simply a matter of self-preservation.”

“I'll admit, I was worried when you first brought that up. Now that I understand the context, I would have to agree with your sentiment. If there was a word to make me not have control over any of my actions, I would be just as vehement about not letting that happen.”

I nod, at least we can agree on that.

“Now, I wanted to ask you about your life before. Is there anything you'd like to discuss? Maybe start off with some of the easier memories?”

“You mean before the War? Or before my capture? Cause the only really good memories I have are before the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. After that, it's all a crock of shit that progressively just gets worse.”

“Let's start with the ones before the War then. Like that one about the albino man that you used to help out with Steve? That seemed like a good one.”

“Yeah, Steve has always been the best parts of my life. I really don't remember much of my childhood before him. I guess that's normal cause we were so young when we met, but really, for me, there's not been a time that I was without him. At least, not a good time.” I shift in my seat, trying to find a more comfortable position with the chains around my ankles and wrists. “Steve. Steven Grant Rogers. He was always my light. I don't know how he does it, but he always finds the right way to go. It's like he was born with God's own moral compass. He'd always be able to pick out who was on the right side of an argument and who was just being a bully.

“I found him getting kicked on by some grade-school bullies in an alley one day. I was always getting into fights. I'm surprised my mom didn't have a literal litter of kittens that day. I'd occasionally come home with cuts and bruises from stepping in on fights. But that day, I not only came home with a black eye and bruised knuckles, I came home with a little runt trailing in behind me. The kids lived in my building, and their mothers had already talked with mine by the time I got home with Steve.

“She looked fit to ground me for life, but she changed her mind when she saw us. I don't know if it was the fire in my eyes or the fire in his. But she just helped me clean Steve up and get him home. I was able to save the notebook that the bullies were trying to destroy and I think that's what made Steve let me hang around. I knew he could fight his own fights, but I decided to stick around and help him finish them.

“The other kids started to leave him alone after that. I thought that was going to be the end of it, but then Steve had this bright idea to help the others who were being bullied. Then as we grew up, it was always to defend the women and girls who were being preyed on by guys with less than honorable intentions.

“Steve, just. He's got something inside him that just makes you want to follow. Even when we had first met, I knew he was it for me. We got into all sorts of trouble, it wasn't always just defending the weak. Sometimes we'd do things just cause we could. Now, Steve would never steal or anything like that, but there's no harm in giving catnip to the cat that lived in the apartment above Steve's.” I giggled, the memory of the ginger cat tearing around the apartment was just as funny as the day it actually happened. “And as we grew up, we just stayed together. I got a job on the docks. Steve got jobs during the spring and summer when his health allowed it. We got along just fine. Really, it's all good stuff there.”

“Do you ever wish that you could go back to that time?” Dr. Belle had moved forward in her seat. “Do you ever wonder what your life would have been like if the War had never happened?”

“I mean, sure I do.” My shrug was a lot sharper than I intended, “I mean, if I could go back and not have to live through the shit that happened to me? Hell yeah I'd do it heartbeat. No contest. Besides, I know exactly how my life would have gone. I would have married Steve. We would have had a kid or two. Or maybe not, work was scarce back then so I had to work a lot to get money for proper food and medicine. We would have continued on like that until either old age or an illness finally took him away from me. And I would have followed him.”

“Are you telling me that if Steve had died before you, you would have killed yourself?”

“That's exactly what I'm saying. See, my life doesn't mean much without him in it. I love him. I'd do anything for him. I'd follow him through hell and back. Fuck, I _did_ follow him through hell and back. So if he moved on to the next big adventure without me, I'd have followed him to that too.”

“I don't mean to offend you, but that doesn't sound like a healthy relationship to me.”

“Nah, it's probably not. And Steve, he'd prefer me to live and move on if he died before me. All that mumbo jumbo about me finding happiness without him and shit. And sure, if I could find anyone who's half the man he is, maybe I'd consider it. But the thing is, I don't want anything else. I don't _need_ anyone else. So sure, maybe my feelings for him are unhealthy. But what we have works and that's all I need.”

“As long as you can recognize that, then I won't make it a point to go through why that's an unhealthy point of view. But I would like to work on maybe finding you some better ways to cope without Steve.”

I waved a hand.

“Sure, why not. Couldn't hurt anything.”

Dr. Belle looked at the door behind me then reached over to turn off the recorder.

“That's all the time we have for this session. I'll be back next week and we can start working a timeline for your lawyers.”

“Sounds good to me.”

I gave her a sloppy salute as I was lead away, back to the cell that was starting to feel a little more like home every day.

* * *

The next few months fly by between my meetings with my lawyers and Dr. Belle. I feel like I've made progress this past year on both fronts. Foggy and Matt tell me that my case is pretty open and shut, that only someone who really wants to have a person to blame without looking too hard would want to convict me of anything. Dr. Belle has recorded more hours of me telling the secrets and missions that I went on. Between the three of them, I'm pretty sure they know more about me and my life with HYDRA than any of the high ranking officials combined.

I'm starting to see a light near the end of my current tunnel. Foggy told me that the US still hasn't set a court date, but that it wouldn't be long before they found something out. The media and the public are pushing for answers to what happened with the Helicarriers over the Potomac. It's only a matter of time before something gives.

I've been upgraded to regular, solid foods and the prison doctor has declared me fit physically. Dr. Belle says that she's going to have to give her assessment on whether I'm fit for trial soon. She seems to have the same unwavering faith in me that Steve does. It would be annoying if I wasn't so starved for anything that reminded me of him.

I spend most of my time in my cell, only seeing the guards for meal times or when I have an appointment. Sometimes I can hear the other prisioners. From the shouts and screams, I can tell some have more difficulty adjusting to the silence and loneliness than others. I still have nightmares, but I've developed a routine to help keep my mind occupied. I do basic exercises to keep my body in shape, I write in the journals that the prison warden allowed me to have, and I keep up my hygiene. That last one took more getting used to than I'd like to admit. There's a big difference from being hosed off when you come out of the tube and actually taking a shower. Thankfully the prison has warm water and not the cold that I'm used to.

There's a tap on my door, a signal that there's a guard who wants to talk with me, that interrupts my push-ups. I rack my brain for what could be the reason for the unexpected visit and remember that I'm supposed to have another meeting with Dr. Belle.

“Come on Barnes. It's time to go see the lovely shrink.”

I place my hands and feet together in front of the door, allowing the guard to cuff me so I can be taken 'safely' to the other room. It's a guard I've not seen before, which while not unusual, strikes me as odd that I make note of his presence. He's tugging on my chains and leading me down the hall before I can complete my assessment of him. By the time we reach the room where Dr. Belle is located, I've memorized the patterns of his tattoos, his brown hair, and his walk pattern.

The session with Dr. Belle goes uneventful. I talk about a mission that I was sent on in the 60s that was insignificant to the rest of the world, but plunged the small upcoming nation into a civil war that still continues today. I debate mentioning the weirdness of the guard to Dr. Belle, that he stuck out in my mind was enough to have me on edge, but he was in the room and leading me away by the time I made up my mind. I managed to have one last look at Dr. Belle before leaving. The look on her face matched the confusion I felt.

We made it all the way back to my cell before I realized that the world felt like it had shifted. The walls seemed to be closing in and my breathing was more difficult than it should have been. The beginnings of a panic attack. Something Dr. Belle and I had talked about. I start doing the deep breathing exercises that we practiced a few sessions ago.

“You know, you're not so bad. Some of the other guards are unnerved by you, but I don't see it.” The guard is knelt down, unshackling my ankles. “I mean sure, the metal arm is weird. But really, you're just one woman.”

He looks up at me and I can feel the ice again. There is something familiar in his green eyes that makes my blood freeze. I can't attack him, Foggy and Matt wouldn't be able to defend my actions and Dr. Belle would be disappointed. I feel trapped, something that I haven't felt in a long time. I feel like I know what's coming. He stands up and grabs the cuffs around my wrists.

“Sure, they talk about you having been some kind of secret assassin or a sleeper agent from Russia. But really, they just have no idea.” He smiles at me and I swear I can see the bones of innocents in his teeth. “Спи, солдат.”

He releases me and my vision feels like it's closing. The world slowly starts to fade away. I barely make it to the bed in the room before collapsing on top.

 

* * *

_I am running._

_I am being chased._

_I see snow._

_I see blood._

_I know it is mine._

 

_Their hands are on me._

_I am screaming. I am the one bleeding._

_Searing pain blooms from my left shoulder all the way to my toes._

_I scream until I am no more._

 

_I am dying in a cave. Starvation, thirst. They will kill me._

_I am running. There is snow. There is blood. There is fire._

_I am hunting. Hair that glows with the embers of repressed rage taunts me._

 

_I am running._

_I am being chased._

_I see the faces of everyone I have killed. They are pale and bloody in the darkness._

_I see the faces of everyone who has pulled my trigger. They are illuminated by the flames of the hell they put me through._

 

_Their hands reach for my heart, trying to squeeze the offending muscle into obedience._

_They are yelling at me._

“ _You went against your orders.”_

_“Why didn't you do that for us?”_

“ _You disobeyed a direct order.”_

_“What makes him any more important than us?”_

“ _You failed to complete your mission.”_

_“Why did you kill us when you couldn't kill him?”_

“ _You have allied with the enemy.”_

_“You should have killed him too.”_

“ _We should have decommissioned you.”_

_“You should have killed yourself.”_

“ _You should have taken the necessary precautions when you realized you were malfunctioning.”_

_“You should have never allowed them to turn you into this in the first place.”_

 

_I hear them and I know it’s true._

_I hear them and I want to die._

_I hear them and I see a faint speck of sunlight in the distance._

_I stare at that speck as it grows and I find that the pain starts to dissipate._

_The yelling gets fainter, the flames die out, the darkness brightens, the blood flow slows, and that speck grows larger and larger._

_Soon the entire area is engulfed by that light._

_I feel pain in my left side._

_I hear my name._

* * *

There are guards holding me down, trying to stop my left arm from throwing them off. There is yelling. There is blood and judging from the concerned looks on the guards and the pain in my side, it is mine. I will my arm to stop fighting and panic when it does not respond to my will for a beat longer than normal. I breathe.

“Are you good now?”

I nod and the pile of guards slowly disengage from holding me.

“Get the doctor in here already!”

The flurry adjusts its focus from me to the task at hand.

“I asked for him two minutes ago, why isn’t he here yet?” The voice comes from the brown haired guard with the tattoos.

“I don’t know, maybe because it took all of us to keep her from hurting herself any more than she already had?” The answer came from a guard cradling his wrist against his chest.

“If I wanted sass, I would’ve stayed at home Reyes.” The rest of the guards chuckle as the heat from the original guard’s voice fades. “Hell, I wish they would have warned us about that arm.”

“You and me both, I think my wrist is broken.”

There’s a silence in the block that wasn’t around when I first arrived. Most of the guards have filed out and a man with a bag rushes past the ones that are still standing around.

“Sorry, sorry! I got lost. I don't normally come out here into the cells. You said your wrist is broken? Come see me in my office before you leave and I’ll give you a good splint. Now, where’s the original patient?”

The guard with the tattoos points towards me and I find myself the center of attention of a very energetic man.

“Let’s have a looksee, shall we? I’ll need you to keep still so I can assess what damage has been done.”

My shirt is lifted and I can see gouge marks underneath a small layer of blood. I look to my left arm and my hand is covered in blood. Breathing hurts. The places where the doctor touches hurt. But I still feel removed from the situation, almost as if I’m staring at it from a corner in the room. None of this seems real. If it were, this breach in protocol would have been met with more pain, not the treating of wounds.

“I need you to tell me what hurts.”

“Assessment: cracked ribs, pain minimal.”

The doctor blinks at me for a moment then presses down in the area that I felt the rub of bone on bone and nods.

“I think you’re right about the ribs. Are you sure you aren’t in pain?” The doctor turns to the guards that are left. “She's been fine this entire year. No problems like this at all. Did anyone say anything to her? Give her anything?”

The guards look at each other; shake their heads, and the one with the tattoos shrugs.

“No one has done anything to the prisoner to our knowledge. We were all told to leave this one alone as much as possible.”

The doctor looked at me again then turned to the guards.

“Can you help me get her to the infirmary? I’d like to do a more thorough check of the damage.”

The one with the tattoos smiles and motions towards the door.

“After you, Doc.”

I am lifted by the guard with the tattoos and another. The neckline of the tattooed guard's shirt shifts and I see the top of a skull encased by a circle. My blood chills. The world goes black and the tattooed guard's hold on me tightens to the point of discomfort.

“Найти тебя.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian:
> 
> Код = Code  
> Спи, солдат = Sleep well, Soldier  
> Найти тебя. = Found you.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait. Between work and my computer resetting itself (Thanks Microsoft) and subsequently deleting most of my progress, it's taken me a bit to catch back up to where I was.
> 
> But here we are! As always, translations at the end of the chapter. :)

The first thing I am aware of is the sound of gunfire. The second thing I am aware of is the table I'm laying on. Then voices coming from somewhere in the room. I take a moment to re-catalog my injuries from the nightmare I had. My ribs still hurt from where my left arm tried to tear my heart from my chest. That's something I'd like to avoid from happening ever again.

 

“You're such a coward Doc.” Anger rips me from my internal assessment and draws my attention to the left side of the room. “You made your bed, now lie in it. You don't get to back out now. HYDRA _owns_ you.”

 

“B-but no one said anything about guns! And what was that explosion? I _had_ an extraction plan that would have worked! Why all this attention for one defunct asset?”

 

The sound of flesh hitting flesh makes me crack open an eye. Thankfully, the two arguing are within my line of sight. I watch the doctor cower beneath the guard that carried me.

 

“If HYDRA deems it necessary, then it's necessary. We don't question orders. Command is going to hear about this.”

 

The only response is a whimper from the doctor. The pieces of what's been going on start to fall into place. My next step is to figure out how to get away from these two and avoid being dragged off again. Never again would I be a toy for some HYDRA scientist to torture. Forgive me Steve, but I'll kill myself before letting these assholes get their hands back on me.

 

I start trying to see what I could use in the room to my advantage. There's scalpels, cotton balls, swabs, and various other medical paraphernalia, but it's all too far away. By the time I could get my hands on any of it, Tattoos would be on me. Surprise is just about the only thing that I have on my side but it won't do me much good with them both on the other side of the room.

 

“What the hell is going on around here?” Two guards carrying another between them burst into the room, “Doc, Brent's hurt. Can you patch him up while we...”

 

The two guards stop. I give up pretending to be unconscious and watch for my opening.

 

“Doc, why's Barnes here? She should be in lock down. What's going on?” One of the guards keeps his eye on the two HYDRA agents as the other lowers their companion to the floor. There's a tense moment as they size each other up.

 

“Well you see,” Tattoos saunters towards me, “This prisoner is very valuable. In fact, she's the reason behind all the commotion.”

 

Tattoos grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks me upright.

 

“She's a troublemaker and a little obsolete but the scientists should be able to find a way to fix that. In fact, let's do a test run to see if everything's still working correctly.” He turns my head so I have no choice but to look at his eyes. “Код по убийствам _”_

 

I wait to see if it works. I wait for my mind to go numb and my body to act without my consent. 10 seconds pass and I feel a smile form on my face. I see fear grow in the eyes of the man holding my hair, feel his fingers tighten their grip.

 

“Код по убийствам“

 

“No.”

 

My left arm snakes up between us and I feel my hand wrap around his throat. I know I'm still smiling, probably looking like a maniac, but I watch the struggle start as the airflow is slowly cut off. Watch as he struggles to breathe. Watch as he releases his hold on my hair after realizing that no amount of tugging will make me release him. Watch as he starts to beat uselessly at the metal appendage his employer grafted onto me without consent.

 

“This is what it is to die at the hand of the weapon you fucks created. This is what so many people saw and felt after someone in HYDRA decided they needed to die.”

 

I watch his eyes begin to roll back and ease up to let his body start breathing again. I let him fall to the ground, unconscious, as I turn to the doctor that's trying to sneak towards the exit.

 

“You.” I wait for the man to freeze. “Where do you think you're going? You're going to help these poor guards save their friend or I will put you down just like I did your compatriot.”

 

The doctor squeaked as he turned back around and looked at the guard on the floor. A small pool of blood started to collect from the wound in the guard's side. I watch to make sure he actually starts to help before I slowly swing my legs over the side of the exam table and ease my feet to the floor. Once I determine I can walk without much difficulty, I make my way to the door that the real guards busted through.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

The thin, high voice makes me turn around.

 

“I'm going to see if I can help clean up this mess and save anyone from these assholes.”

 

The female guard nods.

 

“Good luck.”

 

I grunt and walk through the door – straight into a small task force of HYDRA agents. I curse and size them up. There's four of them but there's nothing identifiable on their persons. I don't know if my old strike team, my old handlers, are still alive or functioning but I don't want to take the chance that one of them is in this group. I trained most of my strike team myself and to go up against them without a weapon would be stupid. I slowly spread my hands out to my sides to show I'm unarmed.

 

“Well, well. Looks like we got our hands on the finest weapon HYDRA's created yet. What do you think the chances of that are, boys?” One of the men gestures to the others. The rest chuckle. “Now, are you going to be a good asset and go back to your sheath or will we have to beat you back into shape?”

 

They all aim their rifles at me. I take another moment to assess my odds. Without anything I could use as a weapon, my chances are small. Taking my hesitation for compliance, one of the agents moves toward me. I play docile until he's in arms reach, then I grab him and position him as a shield while I use my left hand to grab his rifle and send out a spray of bullets.

 

Two agents dodge out of harm's way and send return fire, not caring about their teammate in my grasp. I use this time to aim for soft spots in their armor. I let off another round as I move into a better position. This time the bullets hit their mark and the two guards go down. I'm searching for the last agent when I hear the soft sound of boot on concrete.

 

“I'm really glad you chose to struggle. It gives me an excuse to get rough. Also, thanks for taking out those incompetent imbeciles. I've been trying to find new teammates since they saddled me with them.”

 

The agent tries to get me into a choke hold. I toss the body of the agent I was using for a shield and block with my left arm. I dodge past him, letting his momentum fling him in front of me. I lunge after him, grabbing him in the choke hold he just tried on me. My left arm whirs as the plates and gears shift to keep my hold around his neck. This time I do not let go until I know his life has ended. The two in the doctor's office could be used for information later, but these agents would die before they would ever talk about HYDRA or it's plans.

 

I take a moment to catch my breath, each movement causing an agony from my rib injuries. As I work to calm myself, I listen for the ambient noises. There's still sounds of yelling and gunfire. I wonder how many agents HYDRA sent just to take me back. I wonder how many guards and other prisoners have been hurt or killed as they search for me. The weight of all this extra blood on my hands becomes nearly too much to bear. I shake my head, I need to focus on what I can do to help not feel sorry for myself.

 

I collect a rifle and four clips of ammo the agents had on them and move down the hallway with the closest sounding gunfire. I turn a few corners before I find a group of guards pinned in a room by another strike team, this time there's five of them. I wait a few moments to gauge the situation before I open fire.

 

I take out two of them in my first assault, but the other three manage to get away with nonfatal wounds. I retreat back around my corner as the remaining agents return fire. I wait for them to stop and then pop back out to send another spray at them. I take out another agent, leaving two left, and as I dart back around my corner I see a guard leave the safety of their room. This time the agents have started after me, still firing as they come closer to my position. When the shooting stops, I creep back around to see how close they are. Instead I see the guard standing with one of the fallen agent's rifles and the other two agents dead.

 

“I don't know what exactly is going on, but I want to thank you for helping us out of that bind.”

 

I raise my arms in an effort to show that I'm not a threat.

 

“Just doin' my civic duty to help out those who aren't HYDRA.”

 

The guard nods, a grim look on his face. He looks back at the other four guards still in the room. He waves at me to put my arms down.

 

“I don't suppose you know if anyone else is doing okay?”

 

I nod as I lower my arms, grimacing as my ribs protest.

 

“Three more holed up in the infirmary. I'd suggest going there and seeing if you can help them keep the two agents I helped capture in line.”

 

The guard just stares at me for a moment. I shift around a bit, unsettled by his gaze.

 

“They're wrong about you, Barnes. I don't know what happened all those years ago, but I'm starting to suspect that you're not the cold-blooded killer they say you are.”

 

I shake my head. This is a conversation I don't want to have.

 

“I did things I'm not proud of. Some of it was my fault and some of it wasn't. But that's a long conversation best had when HYDRA isn't trying to kill everyone just so they can get their grubby hands back on me.”

 

The guard starts, then heads to the room where the guards are still hiding.

 

“Don't let them win. We're rooting for you.”

 

“I'm gonna need all the luck I can get.” I laugh as I continue down the hallway. “I'll send anyone else I find towards the infirmary.”

 

I hear a thank you as I move down the hallway. I still have three clips left, which I hope will be enough. Sounds of gunfire and yelling still filter their way to me from the end of the hallway. I pick up my pace a little, hoping to get there in time. I take out the occasional lone agent as I go along. I mentally add them to my running tally. I'm up to fourteen.

 

As I get closer to the noise, I have to sidestep bodies of guards and agents alike. At least some of them took parts of HYDRA down with them. I start hearing pieces of what the yelling is. Someone's barking out orders. My heart starts beating faster. I'd know that voice anywhere, but there's no way he'd be here. There's no way he'd know. Unless Dr. Belle saw through the tattooed guard. But there's no way she could have known he was HYDRA, much less that they would be launching an attack.

 

I decide my mind must be playing tricks on me, but as I turn the corner I have to dodge an agent that's sent flying into the corridor I just stepped into. I whip my head to look in the direction the agent came from and see red.

 

“Greetings Shield Sister!” Thor sends his hammer into another agent's stomach, causing the man to drop to the ground. “It seems that the good doctor was correct in contacting us. Indeed, something was amiss.”

 

I just stand for a moment. My brain tries to wrap around the fact that Thor, whom I last saw nearly a year ago, is standing in the prison I'm being held in. I'm only given that moment before another agent comes into view. I lift my rifle and take him out before the thought fully forms. My body starts moving again.

 

Thor laughs and moves on as I join the fray. I step into the cafeteria area, the only area big enough to handle the amount of HYDRA agents, prison guards, and what seems to be nearly every Avenger. Especially since there's now a giant hole in the wall leading to the outside. The sunlight is streaming in through the nonexistent wall, throwing a warm, hazy glow onto the scene. I'm struck by a desire to memorialize the moment. A feeling that I've heard Steve talk about many times over the years.

 

As I'm looking at the crowd, sizing up the crowd, I find him. He's near the center of everything, barking out orders like the Captain he was branded as before he ever saw combat. I watch the other Avengers move in time to his commands, watch the few guards that are putting up a resistance follow him with grim determination. I see him in his element and I find that my love for him grew and I thought I had already loved him as much as I possibly could.

 

As I'm watching, a HYDRA agent moves up behind Steve. I pull up my rifle and take the shot. I watch the agent fall and Steve whip around. By the time he finds me up on the overlook, I've taken out five more agents that would have done damage to one of the defenders. He smiles and then returns to his combat and barking of orders. I fall back into my role as sniper, assisting where I feel the need is greatest.

 

Before long, the last HYDRA agent in the room falls. Whether or not he's actually dead is not known to me, I'm too focused on slipping through the crowd to where a crowd has surrounded Steve. A flash of memory distracts me, taking me back to the War when Steve was welcomed back after his first (unofficial) mission to rescue me and the rest of the 107th. A warm hand distracts me from the memory.

 

“I didn't expect you to be out here in the thick of it, although I should have known better.” Steve wraps his arms around me, his voice soft as he whispers into my ear. “I don't know what I would have done if they succeeded. I'm glad you're still here.”

 

I find his words bring unbidden tears to my eyes. I force them away and bring my own arms up to bring Steve closer. I wince as he tightens his hold, a groan escapes me before I can play off the moment. Steve pulls away and looks me over.

 

“Where are you hurt? What happened? Do you need a doctor?”

 

I shudder as he says doctor.

 

“One question at a time, Steve. There's a lot that's happened today. It's just a few cracked ribs, nothing I haven't dealt with before.” I take a short breath as I wave him off, it still hurts to take large breaths. “As for the doctor, he's HYDRA and waiting patiently in the infirmary for this all to end so he can sing like the canary he's about to become.”

 

Steve hisses. His eyes darken as he processes what I've told him.

 

“You shouldn't be fighting with an injury like that.”

 

“ _That's_ what you took away from this conversation? Really? Not that HYDRA infiltrated the very prison I'm locked up in. Not that this was all some elaborate and not well thought out plan to recapture me? Really?”

 

“I'm mad about that too. I just have a hard time with the fact that you're out here exerting yourself when you have cracked ribs! Multiple! How does that even happen?”

 

“Easier than you think...” I mumble as I sit down on one of the tables.

 

The guards and rest of the Avengers have left the room. I assume they're going through the rest of the prison to make sure that the prison is secure again. I watch Steve as he's distracted by something being said in his earpiece. I'm too tired to try and listen in. Eventually Steve turns back to me and smiles.

 

“Looks like we have a few minutes to ourselves. Widow and Thor have taken the two in the infirmary into custody.”

 

I take advantage of our mostly private moment to pull him down so he's sitting next to me on the table. We sit, momentarily forgetting injuries and the fact that I'm currently incarcerated. I take the time to re-memorize his face, the way the sunlight lights up his blue eyes, the way my body tingles at the points where we touch. I debate stealing a kiss but ultimately let the moment pass.

 

“Steve,” I barely hear myself as I breathe out his name. “I want you to know that I would never go back to HYDRA willingly. I would take myself out of the equation before I let myself go through that again.”

 

Steve nods, looking uncomfortable with the turn of conversation.

 

“Buck, I would rather die than let them take you away from me again.” He takes a moment to push an errant lock of hair behind my ear. “I would gladly burn all of HYDRA to ashes before I let that happen.”

 

“Till the end of the line?”

 

“Till the end of the line, Jane Burdette “Bucky” Barnes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Код по убийствам = Murder code


	13. Chapter 13

Steve stands up suddenly, putting a hand to his ear. His brows come together and I'm tempted to try to soothe away the tension line that's formed. He looks at me, closes his eyes, then responds back with an affirmative.

 

“Looks like our time's up. I wish we had more time but now that everything's under control I have to go debrief with the warden.”

 

I shrug. I expected this would happen sooner rather than later. I wave my hand at him.

 

“Go, scoot!” I wave a little harder. “Go be that amazing Captain for Justice that I know you can be.”

 

He grins, chuckling, and shakes his head.

 

“They want you to come with me. Apparently some guards want to have some words with you.”

 

“Well, I guess you better do your best to make sure I behave.”

 

“I guess I better keep you close then.”

 

Steve chuckles, grabs my hand, and we walk to the warden's office together.

 

* * *

 

Just before we enter the office, I give Steve a peck on the cheek. He gives me a goofy grin and then opens the door. I walk into the room and Sam immediately crosses the room to hug me. Thor follows almost immediately and before I can warn anyone, he squeezes so hard that I swear at least one of the cracked ribs fully breaks. I'm ashamed to say that I screamed, which prompted both of them to release me without question. Steve is by my side in an instant and coaching me through the breathing process. I'm reminded of many days, back when Steve had asthma, where this situation was reversed. When I look up from trying to be able to breathe without much pain, everyone is giving me a look of concern.

 

“Cracked ribs.” I barely manage to croak out. “Long story. Not sure this is the time to mention it or not.”

 

Steve shakes his head, but glares at Sam and Thor. Sam puts his hands up and Thor looks like he would gladly accept whatever punishment Steve thought fit. A man steps out from behind the desk, breaking the awkward feeling in the room.

 

“Prisoner Barnes, I'm Warden Hawke. I've heard the report of the events that happened this morning. I would like to hear the events from your point of view before I make any decisions.”

 

I take a moment to answer I look fully around the room and identify the rest of the people in the room. There's Sam, Steve and Thor, the warden, one of the guards from the infirmary, and the guard who helped me save the group that was pinned by HYDRA agents. I take as deep a breath as I can with minimal pain.

 

“Yesterday, I had a new guard. Something seemed off but there was nothing for me to bring up to anyone, so I said nothing. When he returned my to my cell, he told me he knew exactly who, or rather what, I was and said a Russian code phrase. Then I had a nightmare that resulted in my left arm trying to tear my heart out of my chest – which resulted in the cracked ribs. I think it had something to do with residuals from the brainwashing. When I woke up, I was surrounded by a bunch of guards trying to prevent my left arm from completing it's decision to kill me. The guard, I've been referring to him as Tattoos in my head, from earlier was there and he's the one who carried me to the infirmary with the doctor.

“They're both HYDRA, by the way. Tattoos has their logo tattooed on his neck and the doctor was supposed to help with the mission to take me out of this prison and back to HYDRA. None of this I knew until I woke up after everything started going down.” I waved at the guard who walked into the infirmary. “That guard and two others happened to have the luck to walk in right when I was trying to figure out how to get out of that situation. They provided a sufficient distraction for me to take out Tattoos and I cowed the doctor into helping their friend who was wounded. Then I made my way from the infirmary to the main battle location, helping a few others along the way.”

 

I nod at the other guard in the room.

 

“I'm pretty sure you know the story from there. I helped guards out where I could, took out HYDRA where I couldn't, and played sniper while the Avengers helped out the guards push the rest of HYDRA out of the prison.”

 

Warden Hawke nods. He looks from one person to the next and seems pleased with the information I provided.

 

“That falls in line with what everyone else has reported. Thank you for your assistance in this difficult situation. I'll see to finding a new, better vetted, doctor to help determine how much damage was done to your ribs.” He nods to the two guards in the room. “In the meantime, I must ask you to return to your cell. Thankfully, it looks like none of the other prisoners were harmed today. We still have rounds to do to make sure that everyone is where they are supposed to be.”

 

I shrug as the two guards move to escort me out of the room. Steve turns toward the warden and quirks an eyebrow. Warden Hawke nods and Steve follows us to my cell. It takes a little longer than usual, mainly because of the rubble and bodies. Eventually we get to the cell I've been calling home for the past year or so. The guards open the cell and step back, giving Steve and I some space. I look up and see a shadow pass over his face as he looks at the sparseness as well as the size of the cell. I gently rub at the line on his forehead and shift his attention back to me.

 

“Really Steve, it's like being back in our old shoe-box apartment in Brooklyn, just less drafty. I'm fine in here. Up till now, no one's bothered me and I've been able to start to put things back into places in my head. There's enough room for me to exercise a bit, a shower, a desk, a toilet, and a bed. Honestly, I'm good.”

 

Steve shakes his head and sighs. He's still giving me the face of a kicked puppy and I can see that my words made little difference to him. So I do the only thing left that I can think of. I reach up and pull him into a kiss. He resists for a heartbeat and then he reaches up and deepens the kiss. I forget time altogether when the sound of a throat clearing breaks us apart.

 

“Sorry to be the one to interrupt Captain, but it's time for her to go back in. If we're not back soon to help with the assessment of the damage, someone will come looking.”

 

Steve nods, never taking his eyes off me.

 

“Just tell me you're fine. Tell me that I'll see you again and this will all be over soon.”

 

I sigh as I move back behind the bars. I wait for them to close before I answer.

 

“I'm fine Steve. As soon as they actually get this trial started and over with, I'll be back by your side keeping you out of trouble.”

 

I smile and Steve nods. He reaches out for me, I grab his hand and squeeze.

 

“Now go, before this gets any harder to deal with. I love you, just remember that regardless of whatever happens. Okay?”

 

Steve returns my squeeze and then he's gone. I stand there until his shadow leaves my line of sight and I'm still there at the door with my hand stretched out like I'm looking for a lifeline. After what seems like an hour, I finally make myself move to the bed and lay down gingerly. The pain in my ribs has barely lessened (super healing my ass) and without a way to properly prop myself up, laying down is a chore. I don't remember falling asleep but when I wake up to food being shoved into my room a few hours later, I find the tracks of dried tears on my face.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter carries a trigger warning for mention of torture and rape.

The next few weeks are a blur. A doctor takes xrays of my ribs, pronounces one completely broken and three others cracked. They've already started knitting back together but even with my enhanced healing it'll probably take a week or so to fully heal. Police officers interview me about the events leading up to and during the attack, asking more questions than Warden Hawke did. They dub it an attempted kidnapping and leave me to my own devices, seeing as I played no role in the planning or execution of the kidnapping. Matt and Foggy show up shortly after the attempted kidnapping and I have a debrief of my own with them. They tell me I did the right thing by helping out the guards and letting the two HYDRA agents who triggered the events live. Dr. Belle shows up early, our next appointment wasn't supposed to be for another week or so, and apologizes saying she should have asked me more about what was bothering me the day before the attack. She had noticed something weird was going on, something about body language and events that happened before and after she saw me. I don't think I'll understand what prompted her to send a message to Steve, but I'm just thankful that it got to him otherwise that day would have gone far different. Something whispers that I should be angry about the confidentiality breach but I can't find it in me to mad at the woman who probably saved my life.

 

About a month after the activity from kidnapping attempt has settled down, some media have dubbed it a breakout attempt but we don't listen to those guys, Matt and Foggy show up and tell me that there's a date for the trial. It's to be held in The Hague. The UN took over jurisdiction of the case, deeming the nature of my crimes to be bigger than just the US government. They say that depending on the findings of the trial, I may be opened up to prosecution in individual countries or, in the case of a favorable outcome, they may just let me go with immunity from the rest of the world. At least from past events, Foggy makes sure to mention that if that favorable outcome happens I wouldn't be exempt from prosecution for future crimes. We end on a good note and on April 21st, 2017 my trial begins in The Hague.

 

The first thing I notice when I land, is that there's significantly greater security than I was expecting. The next is that I can see Black Widow (A memory whispers Natalia, I find trouble placing the memory without thinking of fire, pain, and death.) and Hawkeye tailing my entourage. I smile, knowing that Steve probably sent them to make sure there's no repeat attempt at kidnapping me. The thought that the next attempt will probably be to kill me wipes that smile away. Matt and Foggy are with me as we move from the private landing strip to an unmarked, black SUV. I shake my head, they couldn't have been more obvious unless they painted a bright target with my name on the roof. Matt and Foggy are talking, Foggy explaining all the sights to Matt, when as we take a seat in the back of the SUV. I tense as I see the other occupant of the vehicle but it takes Foggy, and subsequently Matt, to realize that there's someone else in the back with us. Before I can protest, our escort has locked the doors, the other two suvs are loaded up and we're on our way to whatever hold facility I'm headed to.

 

“Nice to see you again. Not sure how I missed the whole female thing, but I guess that just goes to show how good your cover was.” Tony takes a sip from the glass in his hand. “I'd offer you something to drink but last time that happened you freaked out and nearly killed Steve. So, please excuse me if I decline to play hospitable host.”

 

I shake my head, I don't blame Tony for anything that happened back when I was being held at the bottom of the Avengers Tower. There's something in his eyes that tells me he holds a grudge against me, which means that he knows one of the only things that I most regret in my life.

 

“You know, it's funny. Dear old Pops never mentioned anything about you being a woman at all. With his track record, I would have thought that he would have been all over that.” Tony takes another drink before he shifts his attention to my lawyers. “Nice to meet the fine people defending the long lost love of my dear old pal Rogers. I'm Tony Stark, and you are?”

 

Matt and Foggy take a moment to look at each other, Matt's uncanny ability to look around like he can see despite his blindness makes my skin crawl every time I have to remind myself that he is actually blind. Foggy is the first one to speak up and to offer a hand to shake.

 

“My name is Foggy Nelson and this is Matt Murdock.” Foggy eventually takes his hand back as he realizes that Tony isn't going to shake it. “May I ask what you're doing here, Mr. Stark?”

 

I watch Matt's head turn slightly, as if he's listening to things that only he can hear. Tony chuckles.

 

“Sorry, I have a touch aversion. Something you pick up when you become the guest of terrorists and find out that your mentor wanted to kill you.” Tony takes longer sip from his glass, “As for what I'm doing here, the US government tasked me with the duty of keeping Ms. Barnes, or is it Mrs. Rogers, here safe and away from unwanted hands.”

 

I shake my head as my lawyers and Tony converse in barely veiled antagony. I instead focus on the route the SUV takes to our ultimate destination as well as the traffic around the SUV. There are a few times where I think we're being followed a vehicle but they always seem to turn and head in a different direction by the time I decide to bring something up to the driver. It's not that I distrust their ability to keep me safe and to recognize when they have a tail, but I'd rather be safe than sorry. Plus I'm most likely better at it than them. Ultimately, we make it to the place I'm being held, a facility on the edge of the North Sea.

 

The building is nondescript as we pull up. We park directly in front of the entrance and my door is surrounded by our escort, forming a line on both sides spanning the short distance from the SUV to the door. One of them opens my door and Tony leads the way for myself and my lawyers to enter the building.

 

“If it were up to me, you'd be held in a much less comfy building. But these things aren't left to me and you should be grateful for the UN because you're essentially staying in a hotel.”

 

Tony waves his hands as he gestures at different things as we walk from the entrance to a deserted wing. It's sparsely decorated and the bookshelves of the common room are mostly empty, but I get the entire wing to myself.

 

“Where are Matt and Foggy staying?”

 

“They have a hotel room not far from here.” Tony quirks an eyebrow, as if surprised I would think of anyone but myself. “Unless you'd prefer them to be closer?”

 

I shake my head and start poking my head into the different rooms. They all look the same and for the exception of no shower and access to a computer, it could be identical to the cell I had in Sing Sing. I debate telling Tony as much, but given his recent antagonism, I think better of it.

 

“So which room is mine?”

 

“Whichever one you choose.” Tony shrugs. “They've closed this wing off so that you're the only one in here.”

 

I nod. Tony eventually bids us farewell, telling Matt and Foggy that they have until 7 pm to visit unless they're gonna stay over night. After he's gone, I gesture at the table and chairs in the center of the common room. We all sit, Foggy produces cups and water from somewhere and we discuss what could happen from here. The UN's International Criminal Court has only finished one trial in the eight years of it's operation. So there is a very real possibility that this trial will continue on for another eight years.

 

“We can only hope that they move quicker on this trial than on all the others they're working on.” Matt sips from his water glass. “There's a lot of information to go through but the majority of it is public now.”

 

“At least, that's what the world thinks.” I shrug. “There's tons more on me that was kept in hard copy only. Easier to keep HYDRA's best secret a secret if the information is hard to obtain.”

 

“How do you know this?” Foggy sits up straighter. “Why didn't you mention this before?”

 

“Because I only managed to get my hands on part of it,” I look at Foggy. “Everything I managed to collect is in the middle of some very dangerous country and the only one I trust to go find it is Steve. Besides, last I checked stolen information wasn't admissible in court.”

 

They both sigh. We sit for a few moments in silence. Just as I'm about to suggest they go to their hotel room to get some sleep, there's a knock on the door leading to the outside.

 

“Prisoner Barnes, you have a visitor.”

 

I watch as Steve comes in with his arms full of boxes. Foggy excitedly turns to Matt and tells him that Captain America just walked in.

 

“I hope you don't mind, but I told them I was part of the defense counsel. I don't think they honestly believed me, but all that matters is that they let me in.”

 

Steve gently puts his boxes on the table and then took the seat closest to me. He laid a hand on my right thigh and lightly squeezed.

 

“May I inquire as to what's in the boxes?”

 

Steve shrugged at Matt and glanced me. Then realized that Matt was blind and spoke up.

 

“It's documents on the capture, containment, and 'reconditioning' of one James Barnes, aka Bucky, aka Jane Barnes, aka The Winter Soldier, aka The Asset.” Steve sheepishly looked at me. “You have a lot of aliases. Also, I hope you don't mind but I read some of it. I'm sorry, but I just had to know.”

 

I place a hand on top of Steve's and squeeze. I never wanted him to know all the things I went through. Hell, _I_ never wanted to remember them either. But I feel a weight lift off me all the same. Foggy reaches towards the boxes, almost reverently, and grabs a file off the top. He looks at me for consent and I nod. The room is silent as Foggy leafs through the file.

 

Eventually Foggy mumbles something about needing to stay here tonight because he doesn't want to risk the files getting lost or stolen. He informs the guard that the lawyers, and Steve, are staying the night to work on some unforeseen issues. Then he drags Matt and the boxes into a room near the end of the hallway of cells where they camp out for the rest of the night.

 

Steve and I are finally alone for the first time since we left Asgard. It's been a little over a year since I stepped through the rainbow bridge and onto the roof of Avenger Tower. For the first time, I feel the weight of everything at once. I feel the exhaustion catch up to me. Steve notices and leads me to one of the empty cells, far enough away from the two lawyers so their ambient noise stays that way, and we fall asleep in the same, cramped position we used to sleep in during the War.

 

* * *

 

As seems to be the theme of my life recently, I have to wait another year before I can take part in my own defense. Matt and Foggy have been setting up the case for the judges as well as fighting for core pieces of evidence to be allowed in court. They manage to get a few of the documents that Steve brought admitted into evidence, which Matt considers a big win. (“We had to argue that since they are technically your medical records, you had a right to them and could not be considered stolen.”) Foggy was able to find some eyewitnesses, from the more recent decades as most of the people involved at the beginning of my imprisonment are dead, as well as convincing, not that it was hard, Jones and Dernier to come testify on my behalf.

 

Steve has stayed with me through the entire process. Every once in a while, he'll have to leave for some threat somewhere else but for the most part he's with me. I spend a lot of time writing in my journals, trying to reorganize all of my memories. Steve helps where he can and where he can't, he tries to be supportive.

 

I work with Foggy and Matt on aspects of my imprisonment that they feel they need more clarity on as well as my testimony for when I actually go on the stand. There are things that I tell them that I only recently remembered. Some of these I keep from Steve because they are too raw, too painful to tell him. Most of the other witnesses have already gone. Matt and Foggy refused to tell me exactly who was on the stand for each side, said my having knowledge of it beforehand could impact the way I testify. Halfway through the second year of the trial, my first time on the stand comes.

 

* * *

 

“Could you state your full name and date of birth for the record, please?”

 

“Jane Burdette Barnes. March 10, 1917. ”

 

“Thank you. Do you acknowledge that testifying anything but the truth will result in serious legal action?”

 

“I do.”

 

“Knowing this, do you swear to tell the whole truth, nothing but the truth?”

 

“I swear.”

 

The bailiff nods at me then at the judge. I'm given the signal to sit in a stand in the center of the room. Matt and Foggy are on my right and the prosecution is on my left. Matt gets out of his chair and walks towards me, I remember something mentioned about how they decided who would go first in a previous session.

 

“Hello Ms. Barnes,” Matt stands on the other side of the table, facing vaguely in my direction. “First I would like to establish why we're here.”

 

Matt walks a few steps towards me.

 

“The prosecution is trying to convince this court that you were complicit, willing even, in the acts that were forced upon you by the organization known as HYDRA. We're here to establish how that is frankly untrue and we hope to prove that you are just as much a victim of their schemes as anyone else.”

 

I watch Matt as he weaves his spell. I had had my doubts about a blind lawyer, but this opening for me is a thing of pure beauty. I find myself almost believing that I'm completely innocent too.

 

“Ms. Barnes, I know this will be hard, but I'd like you to walk the court through the events that led up to your capture in the Alps.”

 

“Well,” I clear my throat and take a sip of a glass of water that I just noticed beside me. “I guess the best place to start would be with when I was part of the 107th. We were in the middle of enemy country when we were captured by a bunch of Nazis. They had us working on crazy machines and every day a few of us would go missing. We eventually learned that the factory we were in also housed a scientists who were performing experiments on us. None of those who were taken ever came back.

 

“After a while, we gave up hope. This is also when my particular unit within the company figured out that I was actually Jane, not James. I had been able to hide it up until that point but being in such closed and confined quarters, it was impossible. Then the day came that a few soldiers showed up to our cell and came to drag me off. The boys tried to convince them to take someone else, but they wouldn't have it.

 

“I could see the bodies of the others who were chosen. Some were already dead, some were in the process of dying, and others were like me. At first, all they did was ask questions. I gave the standard answer, my rank, name, and serial number. Then after a day or so of that, they started with injections. They never explained what anything was but each one was slightly different. Some felt like my insides were burning to ash, others like lightning had gone shooting through my veins. I lost track of how many days I was there, but after I survived each injection the scientists got more and more excited.

 

“Then, one day after driving myself hoarse, Steve showed up. I thought I was hallucinating at first. There had been a few injections that had caused that before, but in none of them did they feature this brand new Steve. I think my first words to him were 'I thought you were taller.'

 

“After Steve got us all back from that slice of hell, I started noticing changes. I took more and more chances to test out whether I was hallucinating that or not. A lot of my time after the factory was spent questioning my own sanity and seeing what exactly had changed. Steve didn't know what was going on, I never told him much about what happened with the scientists but he figured some things out from some of the others who were in there.

 

“There were a few mission between that and when we found ourselves on a train trying to catch Arnim Zola. But those are important to what you all want to know, so I'm going to skip over them. On the train is when I found out that the main scientist who had been injecting who knows what into my body was Zola. Before that I never knew his name.

 

“Like always, there was a fight and during that fight I had a choice between saving some of Steve's skin or saving my own. I chose to protect Steve. That choice, which I'll never regret, ended up in me being blasted outside the train while it was going over a ravine. Steve tried to reach me, but the door handle I was clinging to gave way and I fell.

 

“I shouldn't have survived. There's literally no one I could have survived that fall without someone having tampered with my body. Which is precisely what Zola did. He was trying to recreate the serum that Steve was injected with. He wasn't entirely successful, but he wasn't too far off either. It saved my life, but also doomed me.

 

“I only remember bits and pieces from that point until I was more stable. I remember seeing my arm a foot away from me. I remember soldiers dragging me in the snow and being mesmerized by the trail of blood I was leaving in the snow. I remember them sawing off bits of bone, without anesthetic. I remember being left in a too bright room while my arm healed. I remember them fitting me for a prosthetic and setting up the neural connections so that I could make it move. A lot of things happened during that first part that just blur together.”

 

I take another drink from the water glass. I find Steve in at the front of the crowd and breathe. I look back at Matt who seemed to have been waiting for me to collect myself.

 

“What happened then Ms. Barnes?”

 

“I didn't know it at the time, but I was the only one who had survived Zola's serum. As such, he wanted to run as many tests to see what my “capabilities” were. These tests included everything from scratch tests to being held under water to electricity. Each one was painful and while my body heals remarkably fast, I do have scars from some of those early tests. I think the FBI took some pictures of the scars before I was sent off to Sing Sing to wait.”

 

Matt nodded, said a evidence number and a collage of various sized pearly scars showed up on a projection screen.

 

“Did you ever consider trying to get away? Did you ever attempt?”

 

“Once or twice in the beginning. A few times later on after I was loaned to someone else. Each time ended horribly for me and anyone who was thought to have tried to help me.”

 

“Would you mind explaining one of those times in the beginning?”

 

“Sure,” I shrug and take another sip of water. “There was this one time, before I was given the prosthetic, when I tried to find my way out. Someone had left the door to my cell open, which at the time felt like a gift from heaven. I made it down a few corridors before I ran into someone. I could even see the exit to the outside world.

 

“It was a test to see what I would do. I probably could have taken the scientist down if I had both arms, but as it was I was down a limb and hadn't had much to eat or drink since the day I fell. I was weak. I was tired and confused. I had no idea where I was and even started having trouble remembering who I was. The scientist laughed in my face as if delighted that I had made it that far before getting caught.

 

“After that, they started with the electricity. At first it was just random body parts, seeing how much I could take. Seeing which parts hurt worse. Which is simple: it hurts just as much regardless of whether the pain starts in your foot or in your head. Once they realized that putting the electricity directly on my temples did something to my memory, they started experimenting with that.

 

“That's when hope really vanished for me. When I was unable to recall my parents or if I even had any. When I couldn't remember my name. That's when I stopped trying to get away. I couldn't remember why I wanted to and then I couldn't remember that I even wanted to leave. Eventually all I had, all I knew was the pain.”

 

Matt gives me a sympathetic look. He shuffles a few notes and then turns his attention back to me.

 

“What happened after that?”

 

“I think something happened to Zola. One day he was there and then the next he was gone. The next thing I remember is being in a completely different lab with completely different scientists. Everyone spoke a language different than me. I could understand English, bits of German, and the few phrases of French that I picked up from Dernier.

 

“But this was new. I hadn't heard this language before. Eventually I learned that I was in Russia under a new branch of HYDRA. I was there to refine my fighting skills, learn as many languages as they could cram into my brain, and ultimately to train their soldiers.” I take another sip. I remind myself to slow down, nothing would be worse than having to stop the trial because I drank too much water. “I would love to be able to say what year that was, but things like time were taken away from me. All I knew for the longest time was I was in ice and then I wasn't. Sometimes the faces were the same and other times they changed.”

 

“I see.” Matt nods slowly. “That must have been rough, going to sleep for unknown times and then waking up to everything being changed. How did that impact your morale?”

 

“It didn't. I know longer had a sense of self. Someone pointed down a hallway or told me coordinates and that's where I went. Someone pointed to a person, gave me a code, and that's what happened. I had no control over my body at that point. Somewhere along the line a scientist set up a series of codes that, when given, made me comply and perform until the desired end.

 

“There were codes that would make me hurt myself until someone told me the code to stop. There were codes that would make me hurt others until someone told me to stop. There were codes where I wouldn't stop until an entire building was cleared of anything living. They truly thought of everything. I couldn't do anything unless someone told me to. I ate when they told me, I drank when they told me, I used the bathroom under strict supervision. I was hosed off until any dirt or blood was washed off and then left to dry on my own. I couldn't _do_ anything, much less _think_ anything.”

 

“Lets back up a bit. You mentioned food. Now, in the prison when we first met, you mentioned that you couldn't remember the last time you had solid food. In fact, we had to order you a special diet usually given to POWs when they come back from having been starved by their captors.” Matt waved his walking stick. “Could you please inform the court what exactly you were given as sustenance?”

 

“You're right. From the time that I last saw Zola until two years ago, I was given only liquids. I think they gave me a protein shake filled with all the vitamins and other supplements that I would need to survive, but other than that I had nothing else. Solid foods would interfere with the cryofreezing and so they found other ways to keep me healthy enough to perform for them.”

 

“I see.” Matt turned towards the judges. “Let me get this straight, for several decades you were given no real food. You weren't allowed to take care of yourself. In fact, they used _hoses_ to clean you off. It sounds like you were treated like a piece of property not as a comrade in arms.”

 

I shrug, then remembering that Matt can't actually see me shrug I speak up.

 

“You're right. The entire time I was with HYDRA no one referred to me by name. It was either Subject or, when I started killing for them, I was called the Asset. But no one ever addressed me directly. Anyone tasked to look after me simply talked amongst themselves. The only person who spoke to me directly was the one tasked to be my handler.

 

“I've gone through a few handlers. Each one was imprinted on me when I was first brought out of cryo. There was a long list of things that they had to do, but that's one of the things that's still fuzzy to me. All I remember of that process is that the face tied to the words spoken was the only one I would recognize when I was brought out of the ice. Something they did during that process also made it so that I could never harm the handler. There was some sort of built in command that the handler was to be obeyed and protected at all times. Even if I could have thought for myself, I wouldn't have been able to think of harming the handler.”

 

“You keep mentioning ice and cryo, but I don't think we've gone over that properly. Could you explain that?”

 

“Sure. Around the same time that they figured out how to use electricity to wipe my memory, they started throwing me in a tube that would freeze me until they had use of me. I think the concept is known to the rest of the world as a myth, but I can assure you I went through it. The freeze was instant. The moment I was in that tube, I knew I wouldn't wake up for a while. That's how they transported me too. There were several times throughout the years where I was put in the tube and then when they took me back out, everything was different.”

 

“Thank you for explaining that.” Matt smiled at me. “We had an expert in early who was able to explain the science behind it, but hearing it firsthand from you helps.”

 

Matt paces in front of the table a little. He taps his cane a few times, as if he's thinking about where to go next.

 

“Let's fast forward a bit. You were sent on missions, we all can agree on that.” Matt waves his arms a little to bring in the whole room. “What's the protocol for that. How did they set up a mission? What information were you given?”

 

“As little as possible. The handler would show me a picture; tell me if it needed to be public or look like an accident. That was it. I was never given names or anything on the target. Only the fact that this person needed to be hurt or die. By that time, I wouldn't even talk unless it was to debrief or give orders to my task force. I was never sent out alone. I always had a task force that would babysit me and only take orders in the middle of a mission. Before and after the mission, I complied with what they told me.”

 

“So, even after you were seemingly brainwashed into working for HYDRA they kept eyes on you constantly?”

 

“Yeah. I mean, sometimes in the base they would let me wander by myself but that was only because they knew I couldn't actually _go_ anywhere. Although, that trust ended when I burned down the facility that housed the Red Room.”

 

“Red Room? What's that?”

 

“It was a program to take young girls and turn them into better versions of myself. The thought was that if you took a girl young enough and shaped her from the beginning, then the need for electrocution would be erased.”

 

“But what caused you to burn the building down? What happened then?”

 

My vision darkens slightly and I have to shake my head to clear away the blackness.

 

“It's okay, take your time. Start when you're ready.”

 

I take a few breaths. I find Steve, realize that was a bad idea, and focus my attention on the glass in my hands.

 

“To accurately answer that, I'll have to go into another part of my life that may seem unrelated by initiated the entire chain of events.”

 

“We're listening.” Matt nods at me and does his best to look supportive.

 

I gulp down some water and then set the glass down, afraid I'll shatter it if I hold it any longer.

 

“In the early Eighties I had a relatively nasty handler. He was a real piece of work and even the scientists hated him. This guy wanted to see if I could create another Asset like me, only without the need for electroshock. This is what started the Red Room, but first there was the issue of seeing if I was even fertile. The thought was all the times I had been in cryo may have damaged my eggs too much to produce life. There was also the debate of whether they should keep me out of cryo long enough to carry the child or if that would be too much for my body to handle.

 

“The-” I cough, my throat suddenly dry. I take another gulp of water as Matt coos about taking my time. I avoid looking at anyone as much as possible. “The handler decided that the scientists could debate all they wanted and took the choice off of them. He cornered me in my cell, not all that hard really since I couldn't attack him even if I wanted to. He kept doing that until the doctors told him that he succeeded. He continued a little bit after that, but eventually the scientists forced him to stop or he'd impact the health of the baby.”

 

I stare at my hands. Apparently I stare too long because Foggy is suddenly in my vision.

 

“Ms. Barnes, would you like to take a break?”

 

I nod. Foggy informs the judges that I would like to take some time to collect myself. There's the sound of a gavel hitting a block of wood, which I flinch at, and then I'm whisked away to a private sitting area.

 

Steve, Matt, and Foggy are there. I become more and more aware of them talking as I sit. Steve is telling me to take breaths, following the same pattern that Dr. Belle used when I had a panic attack in one of our sessions. Matt and Foggy are quietly discussing what they should do when we go back.

 

Eventually I calm down enough that Steve is able to move closer to me. I take a chance and look up at him instead of the floor. I can't figure out what I see in his eyes. I can't tell if he's disgusted or ashamed or even if he's pitying me. The rational part of my mind reminds me Steve would never feel that way about me, but the part that still needs to heal says it's there. His face is a blank mask to me, something that's never happened before. I'm reminded that we really are two different people than we were before that train.

 

“Bucky, I need you to talk to me. Say something, anything.”

 

“I-” I clear my throat as I croak out a barely intelligible word. “I'm okay. I'm here.”

 

Steve sighs. I watch his muscles slowly relax. His hands are still outstretched towards me, hovering just out of touch. I reach out and grab his hands with mine. His fingers tighten over mine. Eventually the lack of touch is too much and I crawl into his lap. Steve lets one of my hands go to run his hand through my hair.

 

“Remember when I was too scrawny to do this? When it was all I could do to comfort you when you had a particularly bad day at work? When I was so small that even though I promised to protect you, I couldn't do much more than play with your hair and kiss the hurt away?”

 

I nod. I never felt like he was useless, but I know he always felt that way.

 

“I'm big enough now. I'm strong enough now. Now, I can protect you from just about anything.” Steve rests his head on mine, burying his face in my hair. He takes a deep breath. “I want to see them burn. I hated them before I knew. I hated them after I knew you were alive. But this? I'll escort them all the way to hell if I have to.”

 

Steve wraps his arms around me, the hold is almost suffocating, but it's what I need. My Steve, filled with so much good and righteousness. He always knows how to make me feel better and this time is no different. I'm upset because I broke down in court. I'm upset because I let them see weakness. But Steve? He's just as angry as I am for the hurts caused me.

 

This time when I look at his face, I see the emotion that was hiding from me. He is angry. He is enraged by the mistreatment that I have endured. I didn't even have to utter the words and he knew. He knew. And he wants to burn the world down around them as much as I do.

 

* * *

 

The judges call us back to court an hour later. They let everyone take a lunch break while I spent my time putting myself back together enough to go back in. This time, I promise myself that I won't crack. I won't let them see how much it affects me. Matt tells me that the emotion I'm showing is only helping me, but it's too much. It's too real. It's too raw.

 

“Thank you for allowing us to take a much needed break.” Matt addresses the judges, who nod. “Let's pick back up where we left off. I know the subject is very sensitive. It's hard to talk about these things, but you're doing a wonderful job.”

 

One of the prosecutors groans, receiving a few disapproving looks from the judges. Matt ignores it as if it never happened.

 

“I need you to tell the court, in your own words, what happened in the Red Room.”

 

“The scientists were worried that the pregnancy would destroy my body. They had to adjust my nutrition drastically and I couldn't go into cryo until after I had given birth. There were other risks, like no electroshock was allowed because it could threaten the pregnancy. But the longer I was out of cryo and the longer I went without being wiped, the more I regained of myself and started acting out.

 

“I was confined to my cell for the duration of the experiment. The scientists refused to call it a pregnancy because that would bring my humanity into the equation and the less they reminded themselves and others that I wasn't actually just an object, a weapon, the harder it was to do their job. So I was the experiment.

 

“I think someone higher up in the chain of command learned about my condition, because shortly after I gave birth I was given a new handler. But I gave birth, it was one of the more painful experiences I had, and the baby was promptly taken away from me. I didn't get to hold it until much later. Instead, they patched me up and whisked me away to go through a wipe and prepped for cryo.

 

“It wasn't until the start of the Red Room project that I actually got to interact with my child.” I notice that my hands are shaking. I take a deep breath, make fists, and trudge on. “No one explicitly told me that the child was mine. I don't think I actually had enough brain power to really make that connection. All I remember from that time is that there was a child with my hair and my eyes.”

 

“Could you tell us the gender of the child?”

 

“It,” I clear my throat. “I had a baby girl.”

 

“Thank you, please, continue. Tell us how you acted out against the organization that was holding you captive.”

 

“My daughter was part of the Red Room project. She was one of my trainees. Part of the Widow program.” I see Steve's eyes widen slightly. “She became friends with another little girl named Natalia. I had recruited Natalia myself, so a part of me was pleased with this. Any time one of the guards or other girls hurt or mistreated my daughter, I had to be taken out of the room. There were a few incidents where I hurt, maybe even killed, someone who hurt her.

 

“There was some talk about removing me from the program but I was so invaluable as a weapons and close combat instructor that they let things go. I frequently had Natalia and my daughter pair up. They learned at relatively the same speed and were evenly matched. As they grew older though, it started becoming clearer that Natalia would be the one to complete the program.

 

“The people in charge had decided that anyone who couldn't hold their own would be 'removed.' The last test for all the girls was being able to complete a kill. The weaker of the pair of girls would die and the stronger one would be taken for more specialized training with someone else. Natalia had completed her training. She was paired up with one of the girls that I had pegged as too weak to continue on and like I expected, Natalia won.

 

“My daughter was a few years younger than Natalia. But it was already clear that although she was skilled, just like her friend, my daughter didn't have the heart to kill someone. The implications were lost on me right up until the year that my daughter would have to take her test. By then Natalia had been functioning as an agent for tshe Soviets for a few years. She was skilled in many areas, but most of all in the art of disappearing.

 

“There were a few times that we talked. When I was at my most coherent, we would devise a plan for getting my daughter out of there. At best, it was a pipe dream. At worst, it would get us all killed. Natalia became very skilled in figuring out when I was more me as opposed to when I had just been pulled out of the ice or wiped.

 

“We had talked for months. Natalia was becoming more and more insistent that we try to get my daughter out. I worked with her on all the potential escape routes they could take and all the potential safe harbors they could use. But both of us knew that without a big enough distraction, no one would let them both leave. Too many eyes were focused on the three of us.

 

“Then, the day came. It was the week my daughter was supposed to take her test and I was being escorted by some guards to the room where they would wipe me and prep me for cryo. I overheard them talking about how they were placing bets on the outcome and how they would miss my daughter when she lost. My memory is mostly blank here. They used more electricity than necessary to remove my memories of this part so what I have is spotty.”

 

“That's okay.” Matt motions for me to continue with his cane. “Please, tell us what you do remember.”

 

“I remember a lot of blood. I remember knives flashing. I remember the feeling of flesh tearing. I remember screaming. I remember them trying to stop me with different codes. I remember a fire and knowing that I'm the one who started it, but I don't know what I did. There was an explosion at some point and I remember being chased outside for some reason.

 

“I don't remember much beyond that. All I know is that after that night, Natalia and my daughter were gone. Not that I would have noticed. I was wiped until I couldn't remember how to breath properly and then they shoved me into cryo. The next thing I remember is waking up back in the US.”

 

The judges call for the session to end for the day. They instruct us to all be back in the courtroom at the same time tomorrow. I'm escorted by Steve, Matt, and Foggy back to my wing in the UN prison. Once there, I fall asleep. The day was more draining than I expected. I can only hope that the prosecution doesn't drag up any more surprises when it's their turn.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to put this at the beginning of last chapter, and I'll go back and fix that, but this chapter contains a few extra trigger warnings for some discussion of torture and mention of suicide.
> 
> Not HTP, but could be triggering for some.

The next day we go over some more of what it was like to be held by HYDRA. Covering everything as best as I can remember from how the codes were planted in my brain to what my training was like. There are more pictures and even a few videos that I didn't even know existed that pop up for emphasis. We even go over the handlers that I remember, none of which I ever had a name for, and the fact that they always had sandy blond hair and blue eyes. Apparently the scientists figured out very early that I was easier to control if the person handling me possessed those traits.

 

The prosecution is mostly silent during the entire process. It worries me, but Matt and Foggy keep telling me that that's normal. The lawyers are just taking notes. That doesn't make me feel any better. After a few more days of being interviewed by Matt, and sometimes Foggy, the judges take a break for a week. During that week, Steve tries to get my mind off the trial as much as possible. He brings up happy memories from the past. He forces me to play card games. He even lets me win more than I usually do. He draws while I read and once he even had me try my hand at making art in his notebook. I wasn't terrible, but it was no where near as great as Steve's.

 

The day of my interview by the prosecution shows up before I know what to do with myself. Foggy and Matt have tried to prepare me for the type of questions that I might be asked but no one can prepare totally. I try to remind myself that I've already done most of the hard part: I told my story to the best of my ability. Now I just have to defend myself without looking like an asshole.

 

I'm escorted back into the courtroom. I note the judges are back behind their table. Matt and Foggy are already in their spots and the prosecution is firmly seated as well. I pass the small crowd of on-lookers. Steve and Sam are in the front row, right where I can see them without having to look too hard. I'm back in my box, go through the motions of promising to tell the truth, and then I'm watching as a woman walks up to me.

 

“Ms. Barnes, my name is Gabrielle Haller. I'm with the prosecution on this case.” She walks closer to the box I'm sitting in. “Earlier in the trial we heard many interesting things about you and your life. You have had a long life, correct?”

 

“Yes, ma'am.”

 

“Have you gone by any other names than Jane Barnes during your life?”

 

“A few.” I try to figure out what angle she's trying to get at.

 

“Could you please list them for the court?”

 

“Sure,” I shrug. “Bucky Barnes. James Barnes. Sargent Barnes.”

 

“Why did you go by a male name?”

 

“It was the only way to get a decent enough job to be able to pay for both Steve and I to have a place to live, eat, and just barely enough, if I worked extra hours, to pay for medicine whenever Steve needed it.”

 

I watch for Steve's reaction out of the corner of my eye. His face scrunches up as I mention the fact that I had to lie in order to take care of us both. Then his face lightens as Sam elbows Steve in the ribs. I catch Sam telling Steve that his face will be stuck like that if he keeps making that face. I find a new found respect for Sam's role in Steve's life.

 

“I see. So you committed a form of identity theft in order to provide for yourself and your friend?”

 

“Hey, it's not like I stole someone else's identity. All I did was use the name my parents' would have named me if I had turned out a boy instead of a girl. Besides, it's not like I changed my last name or anything. Anyone with half a brain could have figured out that James was actually Jane if they looked.”

 

“Alright.” Haller looks me in the eyes. “Are you sure those are the only names you have gone by?”

 

“Those are the only names that I chose to go by. There are names that people used to talk about me, but none of those are ones that I ever agreed to nor put down on any document.”

 

“Humor me,” Haller frowns at me. “Could you please tell me what those are?”

 

“I guess,” I shrug again. “Some people have called me jerk, asshole, and there's probably a few others. It's been a while since I had a proper interaction with other people.”

 

I hear a few chuckles from the people watching. Haller looks less than amused. Foggy and Matt look torn between enjoying my snark and being exasperated by me. Steve and Sam are actively trying not to laugh, seeing them having to avoid looking at each other is adorable.

 

“So no code names? No other aliases?”

 

“Objection!” Foggy stands up.

 

“What grounds?”

 

“Leading the witness.”

 

“Sustained. Ms. Haller, please get to your point.”

 

Haller scowls at Foggy for a moment before turning back to me.

 

“Ms. Barnes, are you saying that you have never gone by the code name Winter Soldier or been known as the Asset?”

 

“That's what you were trying to get me say? I get it now.” I smile at Haller. “Yes, I was given both of those handles. However at the time that those were assigned to me, I was not able to consent to anything.”

 

“A simple yes or no would suffice.”

 

“Then the answer is yes, outside of context.”

 

Haller scoffs as she looks back at the papers on her desk. She grabs one and then turns back to me, citing the evidence number as she brings the paper to me.

 

“Do you recognize this photo?”

 

I stare at the photo. For a moment all I hear is static. I feel my heart rate increase. My palms start sweating. I shake my head. This is a memory that I wanted to stay buried. This is one that I didn't know had any evidence left, but knowing HYDRA, of course they'd want to keep something to show the irony.

 

“I'm sorry, did you shake your head? Does that mean that you don't recognize this photo?” Haller leans closer to me with the photo, pointing at a figure moving into shadow. “Cause that looks an awful lot like you standing next to two dead bodies.”

 

I want to hide. I want to run away. I look over at Matt and Foggy, avoiding the question I know will be in Steve's eyes. Foggy gives me a reassuring smile and motions for me to answer. I take a deep breath. I can see the judges start to fidget. Haller starts to smile.

 

“I recognize the place where the photo was taken, yes.” I swallow. “That's my body yes, but my mind isn't in there.”

 

Haller gets a confused look on her face. She leans back and studies me. I will my heart to slow down. I can't defend myself properly if my body is trying to engage fight or flight.

 

“Can you explain what you mean when you say it's your body but not your mind?” Haller glances at the judges. “That is _you_ in the picture yes?”

 

“It's me, but it's also not me.” I scrunch my face as I try to find the right words. “Before the events in that photo, I was taken out of a freezer, revived, and put through a machine that uses electricity to wipe my mind of all memories. I explained all of this two weeks ago.”

 

“So you're saying that while your body is standing there, you have no idea who those people are nor what you're doing there?”

 

“I was given a photo and told what I was to do that night, but as for recognition and past memories, I didn't know.”

 

“But you admit that it is you in the picture. That you're the one who killed Mr. and Mrs. Stark?”

 

“The weapon of HYDRA killed them. It just unfortunately has my face.” I take another deep breath. “I didn't know.”

 

“So you deny that you're the one who killed them.” Haller leans towards me, a sneer on her face.

 

“It was my hands yes, but it wasn't me. I didn't make the decision. I didn't have the ability to make any decisions at that point. Several decades of electrical shocks intended to destroy your memory will do that to you.”

 

Haller shakes her head at me. I can tell she's not buying my explanation. Hell, if I hadn't experienced any of this myself I probably would be just as skeptical as her. I mean, how do you not have control over your body? How can someone else use you as a weapon without your consent?

 

“But how can you prove that you had no knowledge of what you were doing? How can you prove that you weren't just going along with your orders, that you didn't just make all of this up?”

 

“Objection!”

 

Both Matt and Foggy burst out of their seats. Foggy is motioning erratically while Matt is shouting. The judges start banging a gavel, trying to restore order. I let them all figure out the legal aspects. I'm too busy having a staring contest with Haller. It's almost like we're battling, to see who winces first. I tilt my head slightly, I'm no longer afraid of this woman and whatever she wants to bring up out of my past.

 

The rest of the room quiets down as Haller and I continue our contest. Someone says something but the words just pass by without registering. Haller just stares at me. Eventually her partner, a man, stands up and puts his hand on Haller's shoulder.

 

“Let me take it from here.”

 

Haller takes one last look at me, goes to sit down while sifting through notes. The man turns back to me once he's made sure that Haller is firmly in her seat.

 

“Ms. Barnes, I'm Jareth Folletto.” He smiles at me. “Let me see if I can steer us back on course. Perhaps it was a bit hasty for us to just jump right in at the middle.”

 

He names off another evidence number and hands me a file.

 

“This is the first mention of you as a member of the organization HYDRA in any shape or form. Do you recognize any of this information?”

 

I scan the file. There are only a few pieces in it, but it's written in Zola's handwriting. I shake my head, none of this is familiar to me.

 

“No, I've never seen this file before.”

 

Jareth smiles at me.

 

“Can you read it? The file is in German.”

 

“I can read it.”

 

“Good! Could you read the highlighted section for me on page two?”

 

I flip through the papers and find the section. It's about how the first few tests of the machine to wipe my mind failed to wipe everything away. How they needed to find a way to fine tune the machine to be able to wipe memories but keep the muscle memory and planted codes.

 

“It says that they had trouble with the machine used to wipe my mind. But this is back in the 1940s, of course they had trouble. Their technology hadn't progressed enough yet.”

 

“No, see, I asked you to read the highlighted section. I meant out-loud, not to yourself and then give excuses.”

 

“Objection! Badgering the witness.”

 

“I agree, Mr. Folletto, keep it civil. Prosecution is already one thin ice.”

 

Folletto apologizes to the judges and then turns back to me. His smile reminds me of curdled blood.

 

“Please, read the highlighted section out-loud.”

 

“In English or German?”

 

“A fair question, whichever you feel more comfortable with.”

 

“Subject is compliant. First tests of the machine have been largely unsuccessful but there is hope that time will provide better equipment.” I clear my throat, reading Zola's assessment of me is terrifying. “While there were a few moments of insubordination in the beginning, Subject has finally come around to see things our way. The restructuring of HYDRA's greatest asset is going well.”

 

“Seems to me that you just went along with everything.”

 

“No, I didn't. It says in this passage that I tried to get away, that I was fighting against them.”

 

“No, it says insubordination. Insubordination could have been anything like refusing to wear the right uniform or wearing the wrong hairstyle. Besides, there are no records of you trying to escape. Do you have an explanation for that? Don't you think they would have wanted to document all the ways you tried to escape to help prevent repeat attempts?”

 

“I don't know. I wasn't involved in the record keeping. Who knows what HYDRA does and why? Nothing they do makes any fucking sense.”

 

Folletto clicks his tongue at me.

 

“No need for such coarse language.” He shakes his head. “The scientist who wrote that report states that he was in charge of overseeing you and he is known to keep meticulous notes. How did he forget to mention the parts where you tried to escape? Where you tried to go against the orders that they gave you?”

 

“I don't know why he didn't do those things. Maybe the files got lost in the move from Germany to Russia?” My voice cracks.

 

“If you truly didn't want to do any of the things that they told you to do, then why did you go along with it? Why were you still with them after an incredible 50 years? Why did it take Captain America trying to stop you for you to finally break away from the organization?”

 

“Because I had no choice.” My voice comes out small. Sounds weaker than I can ever remember sounding. “I didn't know where I was. Who I was. I couldn't remember anything about myself. I did try to escape a few times, but every time I tried they'd come up with some new horror for me to go through.”

 

Folletto paces in front of me. His face is contorted into a mask of concern, of contempt.

 

“What do you mean by 'new horror?' Please, explain what happened that discouraged you from escaping them.”

 

I stare at Folletto for a moment. I thought Haller was bad, but this man is positively trying to turn my words around. I take too long to answer and he raises an eyebrow at me, letting out a sigh that sounds like he's a frustrated parent dealing with a problem child.

 

“I already went over this with my lawyers two weeks ago. Was that not enough?”

 

“Humor me,” Folletto laughs.

 

“Once when I tried to escape while in Russia, I got out of the facility they were holding me in. I was surrounded by tundra in all directions, the only building for miles was the one behind me. I made it to a forest before they caught up with me.

 

“They soldiers left their dogs catch me. They refused to call them off, so I ended up having to kill two of them. I almost got away that time, but a soldier followed the blood trail I left in the snow. He found me in a tree. The rest of his friends caught up and they waited at the bottom until I was forced to come down.

 

“They dragged me behind them in the snow by my hair. When we got back to the facility, they stripped me and chained me to a pole for about two days. I guess they figured that if I could withstand being put into cryo, I could handle being left in freezing weather. When they had enough of that, they dragged me back inside and a scientist decided to see how long it would take for my body to heal after being out in the cold like that. But the catch was they decided to flay half of my back to be able to accurately judge the rate of healing.” I glare at Folletto. “How's that? Was that specific enough for you?”

 

“That will do. Thank you.”

 

Folletto walks away, shuffles some papers on his desk, and then comes back to me, smiling.

 

“And what about Zola? Didn't he share any of his plans with you? Did he ever tell you what your purpose was going to be?”

 

“Does a scientist ever explain themselves to a rat? How about to a god? What about a rabbit?” I glare at the lawyer. I'm beginning to think the glare is going to be permanent by the time this man gets out of my face. “But you're right. Zola did tell me some of what was going to happen. He would look at me with a smile similar to the one you have right now as he told me what they were going to do to me that day.”

 

“And what kind of things did he explain that they were going to do?”

 

“Burning, electrocution, being beaten within an inch of my life, a few times I watched as they opened me up and poked around a bit.” I'm a little sad to see that my comment about his smile didn't change his demeanor at all. “They were obsessed to see what I could live through and still heal from. Again, this is all stuff that I've covered before. I'm starting to believe you weren't listening at all.”

 

“Surely there must have been a lot of screaming involved if all of that is true.” Folletto looked around like everyone in the room was in on some joke that I was playing into. “Why did no one help you? Someone must have heard you if all of this was happening in a lab.”

 

I shrug. I finally figured out that this guy just wanted to push my buttons until I made myself look bad.

 

“I couldn't tell you. I was too busy trying to survive. Although, after a while that turned into trying to die so they wouldn't have their play thing anymore.”

 

“So you were suicidal?”

 

“Who wouldn't be?” I scoffed at him. “When you realize that no one is going to come and rescue you. When you realize that everyone you meet is in on this terrible plot to inflict the most pain on you just to see if you come out on the other side relatively unscathed. Yeah, I'm pretty sure most people would rather die than have to live another second with scientists who are only trying to figure out how far the human body, when modified, can go.”

 

I see Matt and Foggy having a quiet conversation out of the corner of my eye. I find myself hoping that they find a way to stop this guy before I reach the end of my self control.

 

“Ms. Barnes, I asked you a question.”

 

I look back at the man in front of me and raise an eyebrow.

 

“I'm sorry, could you repeat the question?”

 

Folletto scoffs at me, crossing his arms.

 

“I asked that if you were so suicidal, then why didn't you act on it.”

 

I laugh. It just bursts out of me and I can tell it shocked everyone in the room. I wipe away tears that have collected at the edges of my eyes and try to get myself to calm down.

 

“Ms. Barnes, please calm yourself. Really, there's no reason for this type of behavior.” Folletto looks at me like I grew two extra heads. “All I did was ask a simple question.”

 

There's a banging noise and a few shouts calling for order. Eventually, as I finally get myself under control, one of the judges announces that there will be a brief recess. I'm escorted out of the room by the bailiff. Matt and Foggy collect me from a side room and we go off to a small cafe that's mostly empty. Steve and Sam join us at the cafe. Everyone's trying, and failing, not to talk about the fucked up lawyer. I content myself to looking through the limited options behind the cafe counter. Steve stands so close to me that I'm surprised a court guard hasn't tried to intervene.

 

“I'm guessing the reason you laughed, not that I blame you, is because the answer was you tried too many times?”

 

I lean into Steve and look up at him. I nod and he nods at me.

 

“I guess we both failed in that department.” Steve smiles at me. “I'm kinda disappointed but yet, I'm not. I'm glad that we found each other again. I just wish none of the stuff in between happened.”

 

I smile back at Steve. I can understand his point of view. But I think we both would have probably been better off if we had both died when we were supposed to. Eventually we're pulled from our moment back to our group. Sam and Foggy went ahead and ordered for the group and the food has already been brought up. We sit around two tables that we pulled together and eat with pleasant conversation intermixed.

 

None of us are surprised when a court-aide finds us and tells us that the judges have asked to see both sets of attorneys privately. Sam, Steve, and I say our goodbyes to Foggy and Matt. We spend the next hour or so talking about embarrassing Steve stories. When the guards come to lead me back to my wing, I thank Sam for all the new dirt on my boyfriend and leave feeling lighter than I have in a while.

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this chapter has taken longer to write than I wanted. I apologize everyone for it taking so long, but here it is! Translations at the end.

The next day I'm back in the courtroom and staring at the prosecution. Folletto and Haller are sitting in their seats, having a heated discussion. Matt and Foggy told me this morning that the judges reprimanded the prosecution severely during their meeting. They didn't go too much into detail, but it still made me laugh.

 

Haller stands up this time with Folletto scowling at me behind her. She takes her time making her way to me, shuffling papers and reviewing notes. The bailiff reads me into the session again, by now everyone's got the thing down by heart. After all the formalities are finished, Haller approaches me.

 

“Last session, we discussed a lot of things that you had already gone over with the defense.” Haller paces in front of me. “This time, I'd like to discuss something that one of the witnesses brought up. We spoke to a scientist who claims to have been with you during your stay in America. This doctor, a Mr. Brosnan, states that there were times when you were the one who asked to be put in the machine that took away your memory. Is this true?”

 

“Yes. I can think of a few occasions when that happened.”

 

“Thank you. Would you say that this was a sign that you had decided to cooperate with the organization that you were a part of?”

 

“No, it was more of...” I try to think of the best way to put this without seeming insane. “Everyone has habits right? Things and routines that make up the normality of their life, right?”

 

Haller nods.

 

“Well it was more like that. At that point I was so used to my mind being this blank empty slate that was only filled when someone else gave the command, gave me the information to put in it, that when I started to remember things I panicked. After 50 years of living without context, without purpose other than what others proscribed for me, feeling and thinking for myself became scary.”

 

“Thank you.” Haller looks at her notes again. I can tell there's been a shift in how she sees me, but I'm not sure just what that shift was.

 

“Ms. Barnes. There was a guard from Sing Sing who testified that you were involved in the planning of the attack on the prison. Would you say that this is true? Did you help plan an escape from Sing Sing?”

 

“What?” I scoff. “I bet that was Tattoos. He would try to pull something like that.”

 

“Tattoos?”

 

“Yeah, the day before the attack there was this new guard who showed up. He had a lot of tattoos, a lot more than some of the other guards. I never learned his name, so I've just been calling him Tattoos. He's the one who triggered something that made my arm almost kill me. He's also the one who tried to kidnap me from the prison.”

 

“I see. So you are saying that he's lying?”

 

“Well, yeah. I could have left that prison anytime if I had wanted to and with a lot less notice. I chose to stay there. I promised Steve I would cooperate, tell the truth, and let justice run its course.”

 

Haller looks at me like she has a question that she can't ask. She clears her throat and shuffles her notes again.

 

“Ms. Barnes.” Haller looks at Folletto, who nods. “My partner is going to take over from here. He has a few questions for you.”

 

I shrug. This would be the least weird transition these two have had yet.

 

“Ms. Barnes. I would like to apologize for my behavior the other day. I did not mean to sound so callous.” He waits for me to nod in acceptance. “Would you say you ever experienced a sense of longing?”

 

“What do you mean?” I narrow my eyes at him. He's being too nice and too vague.

 

“Longing. Like a homesickness. You never felt like you longed for better days?” He stares at me for a moment. “No? No sense of longing? Alright, well how about your arm? Has it ever rusted?”

 

“I. Wait. What did you say?” There's something stirring in the darker parts of my memory. I don't know what it is, but I don't like it.

 

“Has your metal arm ever rusted? One would think that thing would need constant maintenance.”

 

“No, it hasn't ever rusted that I know of.”

 

“Great. Would you say that Azzano was like a furnace? A few of the reports we have from that debriefing has a few statements from your fellow soldiers saying it felt like a furnace.”

 

“I don't follow...” I'm too distracted trying to figure out what this man is doing to really pay attention to him. “Yeah, it was hot as hell in there. It was a factory and factories have huge furnances. I don't understand what you're trying to get at.”

 

“Excellent. Now how about that daybreak? When you finally made it back to a friendly camp? How was that?”

 

“I..” My tongue is feeling heavy. The room is starting to wave in front of me. I need to figure out what this guy is up to before it sets everything we've worked for on its head. “What are you doing?”

 

“Hmm? I'm merely asking some questions to wrap up this session, Ms. Barnes.” He shuffles some notes in his hand. “Oh, just for the record. You said your birth year was 19-?”

 

“Seventeen. I was born in the year 1917.”

 

“Ah, right! Seventeen. How could I forget that.” He shakes his head with a smile. I want to wipe that smile off his smug face. “No one would ever consider you benign, would they?”

 

“I don't... Seriously, what are you doing?” Matt and Foggy look concerned. Steve does too.  “Stop it.”

 

“Sorry, just ignore that last bit. I was just thinking out loud.” He shuffles a few more papers. “How many Howling Commandos were there? Nine?”

 

“No-” My speech is slurring. I don't recognize anyone anymore. Where am I? What am I doing here? “Stop it. Whatever your-”

 

“How about your homecoming? Did you feel like it was all that you wanted?”

 

“No, what?” The room is spinning. Memories of electricity flashes in my brain. I grab my head. “Shut up. Shut up. Shut. Up. Shut! Up!”

 

I get up. I have to leave. I have to be out of here before this guy speaks again. I push up out of the chair, only to fall down. My hands go up over my ears. Something's wrong. He's found some old code. One that I had forgotten or just never remembered. I have to make him stop. There's a keening noise and yelling. I can't focus. Everything's tilted. It feels like I'm in a fun house at the carnival.  There's movement beyond the bars of my cage.

 

“Let me just-” Someone yells, trying to be heard above the commotion in the room beyond my cell. There's too much noise. “There's just one more! Freig---!”

 

Blackness. There is nothing. No more thought. The body is poised, ready for movement. All it needs is one more syllable. One more command and the fury that is behind the weapon will be released. It watches the movement beyond the bars surrounding it. It waits. It waits because no purpose has been given. It waits because that is what it must do. It waits because to act without per-authorization means pain. It does not like pain.

 

The movement has ceased. There is someone calling for order. It waits. There are people rushing its cage. They are calling a name that it does not recognize. It does not know what to do. There are no protocols for this situation. It waits.

 

“Bucky!”

 

There are hands reaching for it. It must not allow capture. It sits up and shifts toward the back of the cage. The walls to this cell are incomplete. It scoffs at the inefficiency of its captors. It looks around, knowing its handler will not be too far. This is obviously a training exercise and it must not fail. It finds the one with features that are most recognizable. This must be its handler.

 

“Миссия.”

 

It sees defeat in the eyes of its handler. It does not know what it has done wrong but it waits for the pain.

 

“Bucky, come back to me. Please, come back.” It watches as the handler sits across from it. Pleading is new to it in this context. Pleading comes after pain, not before. “Bucky. You beat this once. You can do it again. Come on. He didn't even finish the last one!”

 

It waits.

 

It waits.

 

It is good at waiting.

 

It notices that the room is slowly being emptied. It does not like this sign. It waits for the pain. The handler looks at someone behind it. It refuses to look. To flinch and acknowledge that it is curious will only bring more pain.

 

Pain.

 

It does not understand why there is none.

 

Red filters into its field of vision. It is burning, that red brings back images of fire and blood. Screams and ballerinas. Guns and pencils. Knives and pretty bows. Cold and snow.

 

“Тoврищ Возвращайтесь к нам. Мы Нуждаемся в вас.”

 

“Natalia, Где Мы? Что происходит?”

 

“Вернись. Я объясню, когда ты выйдешь из этого.”

 

It takes deep breaths. Natalia wouldn't ask something of it if it wasn't important. Moments go by, it breathing while staring at Natalia like a lifeline. The anxiety on her face lets it know that it needs to remember. Something that was taken, again.

 

The fog lifts, slowly. It-I look around again. I see the shoulders that surround me sag slightly. I try to work through the fog again. It's hard to make my way back to the front. I expect to see blood. The absence of screaming could be a good sign, but it could also mean that I killed everyone who was there to scream.

 

My eyes find Natalia's again. Her hands gently hold the sides of my face, as if she's worried that I'll hurt her if she twitches the wrong way. A memory of something similar threatens to overtake me but I nudge it away.

 

“Is it bad, Natalia?” I wince, I shouldn't be so scared to see what my hands have done. “How bad is it?”

 

Natalia smiles. My heart speeds up when it's a real smile and not her smile that heralds graveyards.

 

“Not bad at all,  Товарищ.” One of her thumbs traces a circle across my cheek. “No blood this time. You did so well this time, Мать. You held out until we could stop him. You did so well. So well. I'm proud of you.”

 

“Hey,” I chuckle, “I should be the one to say that to you, маленькая лиса.”

 

My awareness slowly bleeds out to the other people surrounding me. Steve is directly beside Natalia. There are at least two people behind me, and I'm sitting on the floor of the witness stand. When I look out into the rest of the room, everyone except the judges and a few court guards are gone. As I remember the events that led up to me sitting on the ground, instead of on a chair, my blood pressure rises.

 

“Wait a minute, Мать. I know that look.” Natalia takes her hands back and places them in a placating gesture. “They've already dealt with him. You need to let the court decide what to do with him.”

 

I go to speak and she shushes me. I can tell by the sparkle in her eye that she's enjoying being in charge way too much.

 

“If you go after him now, all the work you've done to prove you're not a violent person when you're mind is your own will have been for nothing.” She right, and she knows it. At this moment, I hate that I taught her all my tricks. “Let us take care of you. Let this one go.”

 

“I need to know where he got that code. It shouldn't have worked. I thought the codes were all useless now.” I raise a hand to my temple. I think I hit my head on my way down. “I need to make sure that code dies with him.”

 

Steve laughs, breaking me from my thoughts of how I'm going to torture the information out of that man. I glare at him and he holds up a hand in defense.

 

“Just give me a second.” Steve laughs a little longer before he finally stifles it behind a hand. “It's just, now everything kinda makes sense. I didn't realize you knew Natasha, but I'm guessing you two are close.”

 

Natalia and I exchange glances. I start to wonder if I need to help Steve stop laughing when someone from behind me steps into my field of vision.

 

“Now that we have that crisis averted. Could someone tell me and the rest of this fine court what we just dodged?”

 

Sam steps up behind Steve and claps a hand onto his back. He's smiling, which I take as a good sign.

 

“Mr. Folletto was using a very old code that I didn't realize still worked on me. It was so old that I don't even remember them planting it in my head.” I scowl for a moment, checking again to see if the courtroom really is blood free. It is, which helps my heart slow down finally. When I look back at Sam, I see his smile has slipped a little.

 

“So, you're saying that if that guy had finished that last word then you would have gone Winter Soldier on this courtroom?”

 

I nod. Everyone's smiles slip away. I see the guards around the judges slowly break from their tense stances as they notice that our group has things under control. A conversation begins around that table that I'm not sure I want to hear. I look back to Sam and see two more faces staring at me. I should have known that Matt and Foggy would have stayed as long as someone would let them.

 

“Glad to see,” Matt chuckles at himself. “that our client is well. Actually, Foggy had to describe everything to me, but the sentiment remains. We're glad you're okay Bucky.”

 

“Thanks guys. Sorry to worry everyone like that. I guess some habits are hard to break.”

 

“Hey now, give yourself more credit than that.” Foggy looks from Matt to me. “I don't know about anyone else here, but I wouldn't have been able to handle a situation like that so well. When we figured out what you were freaking out about, which took us longer than I'd like to admit, we sent for some back up.”

 

“Well,” Matt leans on his walking stick. “Let's all just be glad that we managed to avoid a major international incident.”

 

* * *

 

 

The next session sees Haller working by herself. No one will tell me what happened with Folletto. Natalia is in the gallery sitting next to Steve and Sam throughout the rest of the trial. Everything goes smoothly. A few more months go past, I've now been back from Asgard for about three years now. All that's left to do is give closing statements to the judges. I'm present for the reading of the verdict. Everything goes exactly like Matt and Foggy said.

 

The judges looked at all the physical evidence and took all the testimonies, combined with what happened during my testimony, and decided that while I was definitely the instrument used - I was not guilty of the charges against me. The news outlets were mixed. Some started declaring me the world's longest known prison of war while others condemned the courts saying they let a sob-story cheat the world of some justice. Steve blocked me from watching the news for a while.

 

I got to see Dum Dum and Gabe. I thanked them for their testimonies during my trial and they brought me up to date on everything I missed while I was being used as a puppet. I reminded them of some of the happier stories that I remembered of the Commandos. Steve took me to pay my respects to Peggy. I could tell he still misses her. She was a great friend and she could have been more for Steve if I wasn't around to muck things up. I thanked her for being the only other woman besides me and his mother to see Steve for what he is before the serum made his outside match the inside.

 

Tony apologized for his initial response to the news that I was the Winter Soldier. I marked the day on the calendar. April 5th, the day Tony Stark admitted he was wrong about something. I apologized to him as well, not that it makes a difference to what I did. I also got to meet the rest of the Avengers. Clint Barton, Vision, Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, Rhodey, and Bruce. They threw a small party on the common floor of the Tower the day that Steve and I moved back into his floor. We stayed there, mainly because the world felt like they could keep an eye on me and would feel safer because I'm surrounded by all the people who would be the ones called in to stop me anyway if I went rogue. Steve still goes on the occasional mission with the Avengers, but the bureaucracy is still trying to find ways of pining him down so he doesn’t go out as much anymore.

 

I had to wait until the vast majority of the publicity died down before I made my next move, but the waiting was harder than I expected. During the trial, I realized that I needed to find out what happened to my daughter. Even though whatever happened in Asgard gave me my memories back, there’s still a layer of dust over them. It’s like sifting through old, faded photographs in an attic – the kind that were new when Steve and I were growing up but now are tones of dull sepia, black, and grey.

 

I know she didn’t survive the fire, not unless she had help. I know I’m going to find nothing but pain. I still need the closure though so I’m heading out on one more mission, I’d say my last but with the way my life has gone that’s not an option. I meant to go by myself, just one last time out in the world on my own, but Sam, Natalia, and Steve insisted on going with me. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t appreciate their company.

 

As we drive through the frozen wasteland of northern Siberia, I look back into the cramped cabin of our vehicle that’s a chimera of an RV and a tank. Sam and Natalia are huddled over a map of the area. Natalia quietly points out areas of interest while glancing up to where Steve and I sit at the front.

 

“Kinda makes you wish we had these back with the boys, huh?” I squeeze Steve's hand, our fingers have been laced for the past three hours.

 

“Trekking through Europe would have been a little easier. Would have left an easy trail to follow though.” Steve grunts. “It's almost a fair trade.”

 

I laugh and we spend the rest of the ride in silence. Steve eventually switches places with Natalia. I scan the horizon, looking for anything that seems familiar. It's been years since I was last at this base, longer for Natalia, and the landscape has changed since then.

 

“You know, I go by Natasha now.” Natalia keeps her eyes on the landscape. “You can call me that, if you'd like. It might help you let go of the past.”

 

“I could, but it's kinda hard to let go of the name I've been calling you for the past 30 years.”

 

“True.” She laughs, before turning sober again. “What do you expect to find out here?”

 

“Answers. It's the last place I have to clear out.”

 

We're silent for a few minutes, watching the snow fall over the already white landscape.

 

“How about I just call you Nat?”

 

“That'll work.”

 

I look back at the map on the dash, trying to figure out our position. It's harder when all the landmarks have changed or just disappeared. Eventually, just as I'm about to say we all take a break for the night, something breaks the horizon. I bring up a pair of binoculars to see if it's the building I'm wanting. I let out a yip, causing everyone else to jump.

 

“Sorry, it's just we found it.”

 

Steve and Sam crowd up to the front. We all stare as the building slowly emerges from the snow. Nat parks in front of the entrance, or rather what's left of the entrance. The stone still bares the marks of the flame that I started, all those years ago.

 

“Let's rest. No use going out in the cold just yet. The building can wait until morning.”

 

“Thank god. I was hoping you'd say that.” Sam smiles at me while moving toward the back of the vehicle. “Cold like this does not agree with this excellence.”

 

We all laugh, like Sam intended, and move to our separate locations marked for sleep. The vehicle's shaped like a Humvee, just extended. The back has a set up for logistics as well as four bunks. I'm curled up with Steve on one, almost asleep, when his chest rumbles.

 

“What do you think you'll find in there Buck?”

 

“Answers.”

 

Steve hums and that's the last I remember before the sun wakes us up.

 

* * *

 

 

Sunlight and birds are the wake up call that gets us all out of bed. We all putter around, fighting for the remainder of the breakfast foods we packed. Everyone takes a trip outside to relieve themselves and then we're all dressed and ready to tackle whatever this burned out base has left to tell. I lead the way through the hallways. I stop and point out places that revive old demons in my brain. Nat occasionally shares her own with the group, but mostly we just weave our way through the empty building. We pass the room that we used to train in. Nat and I share a few stories about that room. I try not to look at Steve too closely, his discomfort might be enough to dissuade me from going through with this. We pass by the room that used to hold the equipment HYDRA used to wipe my memories and reset me for getting in and out of cryo. Nat has to pull me away from that room. Sam has to pull Steve away. I'm glad it's empty. 

Eventually we reach the room the housed all the soft and hard copies of all the reports and mission files. The computers are surprisingly still there. Nat immediately goes to work on one of the computers. I walk around and look at the shelves of information. Sam starts on a shelving unit opposite of mine. Steve and I start looking through the ones closest to us.

 

“Um, one problem.” Sam's voice cuts through the sound of silence and Nat’s tinkering. “I can’t read this? This is Cyrillic, right? Either way, I have zero clue what I’m looking for here.”

 

Both Nat and I laugh.

 

“We weren't expecting you to be able to. I just didn't have the heart to tell any of you to stay behind. You've all helped me this far, I couldn't just say no now.”

 

Sam looks sheepish.

 

“Well, it's gonna be awfully boring if we just have to stand here and wait.”

 

“Why don't you go explore the rest of the base?” I shrug. “I'm sure you'll be able to find something interesting. Just try not to touch anything that you don’t know what it does.”

 

Sam and Steve look at each other before shrugging and walking out to explore the old base. I hear Nat sigh as I return to the file in my hand.

 

“Not going as planned?”

 

“No. There’s no power, hasn’t been any for years it looks like, and the components have all frozen together.”

 

I laugh. “I think that's par for the course at this point.”

 

I sift through a few more files before I decide to take a break. I watch Nat as she gives a passing glance through some files. I can tell she has something on her mind but trying to rush her into telling me what it is before she's ready wouldn't work, so I just stay silent. I pass by a bookshelf that's filled with mostly rotted files and search for another set of papers that are still legible.

 

"I have a confession."

 

I glance at Nat before looking back at the files on the shelf I'm in front of. "I'm not a priest but I'll listen anyway."

 

I hear a soft chuckle before she lets out a deep sigh.

 

"You won't find anything here, Мать." I can barely hear her whisper. My hand freezes over the file I was just about to pull off the shelf. "I know where she is. I just had to be sure you were  _you_ before I brought you to her."

 

The world tilts. I turn around to look at Nat and search her eyes. She's being completely honest with me. More honest than she's probably ever been since I brought her into this fucked up world of mine. I can't speak. I don't want to move and break the spell that's descended on me.

 

"Мать, when you started the fire," Nat stares at me, looking deep into my soul. Searching for something I don't know how to give. "That fire let me get away from here. That fire let me get  _her_ out. I used one of the other failed Widows to fake her death so they wouldn't go looking and I hid her."

 

I guide my body down to the floor. Standing seems like too much work all of a sudden. I can feel hysteria bubbling in my chest. Nat rushes over to me. She kneels and takes my hands.

 

"Мать, I kept her safe for you. I hid her from the world so that they could never use her against you." Tears flowed from my eyes. They were so thick I almost couldn't see the ones falling down Nat's face. "Мать, say something. Please..."

 

"маленькая лиса." My voice hitches and I have to start over. "маленькая лиса, моя милая лисица. You did so well. Thank you."

 

I pull Nat into my arms, holding her like she was a child again.

 

"Thank you so much Natalia." I rock us as we both let our sobs out. "You have given me a gift that I can never repay."

 

We sit like that, using each other as the lodestone to keep us tethered to this fucked up world as we let out years of pent up emotions. We stay there until Sam and Steve come back and find us exhausted in each others arms. The sun has started to fade and when I look into Steve's face, all I see is questions that I have answers to but can't work up the energy to answer. Sam leans over and gently pulls Nat out of my arms. Steve picks me up off the floor and the two of them carry us back to our vehicle. It is silent in the same way abandoned buildings are silent as Sam and Steve help the two of us get into the bunks. I break the silence before I drift off to sleep.

 

"She's alive."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Миссия = Mission  
> Тoврищ Возвращайтесь к нам. Мы Нуждаемся в вас. = Comrade Return to us. We Need You.  
>  Где Мы? Что происходит = Where are we? What's happening  
>  Вернись. Я объясню, когда ты выйдешь из этого =Come back. I'll explain when you get out of this.  
> Товарищ = Comrade  
> Мать = Mother  
> маленькая лиса = little fox  
> моя милая лисица = my sweet little fox


End file.
